


It's a Winchester Contagion

by Anilkex



Series: You Are The Third Winchester [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Sick Adam, Sick Bobby Singer, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick John, Sick Sam Winchester, Sickfic, Third Winchester, contagion, curse, sisfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2507669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anilkex/pseuds/Anilkex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's pissed off. Dean's jealous. Dean's being overprotective. Normally, he could cope with these things, except that Sam got cursed and it's making things more difficult than usual. </p>
<p>To top it off, Sam got everyone incredibly sick. </p>
<p>Set in the You Are The Third Winchester AU. </p>
<p>Note: If you're not a sisfic fan, but love sickfics, give this a shot.  You may be surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Winchester Contagion

**Author's Note:**

> So. Indulge me.
> 
> It's been a year since I posted my first fanfic. I posted on my birthday last year as a present to myself, to see if this was something I could actually do. Turns out, it is, and I likes it a lot. I find it funny that my first fic ever was Angst and Congestion, a story where both brothers are sick and their sister has to deal with them. Writing a contagion story that would end up being finished around the same time seems appropriate. It was completely unplanned, and I love it when shit like that happens.
> 
> I tried for a balance of angst and sick...my awesome beta, Senberet, told me I managed it. A huge thank you to her for providing feedback.
> 
> As a story warning, Bobby's illness involves a really bad stomach. It's referenced - he doesn't actually DO it. But still... if that's something that gets to you, feel free to skip over the Bobby part(s) in the middle.
> 
> As always, if you're not familiar with my 'verse, please check my profile.

I woke late, again. 

Technically I couldn’t _really_ say I was late, because we didn’t have anywhere to be. We were still at Bobby’s settling down from my kidnapping. Dad had us taking care of easy jobs, not that far from Sioux Falls. They all wanted me to ease into hunting again, despite my insistence that I was fine.

Well. Mostly fine.

I was still dreaming of Charles, and it was kind of fucking with my head. This, coupled with a variety of thoughts regarding a certain angel, was making sleep a little difficult.

Eventually, I made my way downstairs, pulling my hair into a ponytail as I reached the bottom step. I turned into the kitchen to find Sam at the table, drinking coffee and reading an old, weathered book.

“Hey there,” he said, nodding at me. “How’re you feeling?”

I stopped in my tracks, my hands still fussing with the last loop of the ponytail band. “Um...fine…? Why? _You_ okay?”

Sam huffed and closed his book. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “ _I’m_ fine. But then, I’m not the one who’s been sleeping late yet looking like I haven’t slept at all.”

Tightening the ponytail, I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine, Sam.” I walked to the sink, grabbed a glass from the cabinet, and filled it with water, hoping he’d shrug it off and wander away.

I heard a chair scrape against the floor and soft footsteps behind me.

_Goddammit…_

I swallowed the water and closed my eyes. The feeling of unease was fading into the distance, as it does every morning. But _fuck_ did I feel better once I felt his arms around me and his chin on my head. 

Unable to stop myself, I reached up and gripped his arms, pulling them tighter around me. We stood together for a minute, saying nothing but sharing everything. He kissed the top of my head and gave me one last squeeze. “Let me know when you want to talk,” he murmured.

Nodding, I squeezed back right before he let go. “Where is everyone?” I asked.

He thumbed over his shoulder as he leaned against the counter. “Garage...they’re all working on Adam’s car. Gaskets and engines...maybe brakes?”

“Really?” I drawled. “All that?”

Sam shrugged. “I dunno...it was all blah blah _oil_ blah blah blah _tools._ I stopped listening after the first blah.” 

I laughed and set the now empty glass in the sink. “I’ll go check on them. Wanna come along?”

Sam hedged a bit, flicking the end of my ponytail. “Actually...I wanted to talk for a minute.”

Sighing, I pulled an “ _I heart Sioux Falls_ ” mug out of the cabinet. “Sam...I’m fine. Really.”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, Kate, it’s not all about _you._ ”

_Oooh…_

I arched an eyebrow at him, and he grinned at me. Pouring coffee into my mug, I asked, “Okay, so what’s up?”

Sam folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath. “Dad wants to take me on a road trip.”

As I put half-and-half and sugar into my caffeine fix, I shrugged my shoulder. “And?” Dad taking the boys on a trip wasn’t news.

Sam sighed and pulled my hair, almost making me spill coffee all over myself. “Dad wants to take _me_ on a trip. _Alone._ ”

Oh. _Oh... That_ was news...

“I’m sorry...say that again?”

“Got your attention, huh? You heard me.”

“I heard you, I just don’t believe you.” I sipped my coffee, watching Sam closely for signs of sibling fucking around. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, believe it, because we’re leaving later today, after they do whatever they’re doing to Adam’s car.” He nodded at the table, telling me to sit with him.

I sat, frowning, still processing Sam’s big news story. “Okay...why? What’s going on? Does Dean know?”

Not only was I confused, but I was downright worried. Sam and Dad alone together with nothing but weapons to buffer their tenuous relationship? Yeah, that wasn’t going to end well.

Sam pushed the book to the side and wrapped his hands around his coffee mug. “There’s some guy who has a few ancient books on demons and demonic possession, and he’s letting us borrow them. Dad’s hoping they may say something about demon blood in humans. We’re going to Minnesota to pick them up.” His eyes stayed on his coffee as he talked, one finger absently tracing the rim of his mug. “And yes, Dean knows. He’s not happy about it.”

We sat in silence for a few seconds while I digested all this. “I still don’t understand why at least Dean isn’t going, too.”

Sam made a face, telling me he agreed. “I dunno. I think… _think_...that Dad wants to have some _quality time_ \- “ He used air-quotes! “ - with the son who has tainted blood.” He brought his mug to his mouth and muttered, “Probably wants to see if I’m part demon or something.”

I reached over and smacked him on the head. 

“Ow!”

I shot him a scathing look. _Knock that shit off. It was soooo two curses ago._

Rubbing his scalp, Sam sighed. “Yeah, okay, sorry. I just...I’m nervous, you know? There’s this part of me that feels like a little kid, wanting Daddy to fix this, and my adult-part knows he doesn’t have the answers, and I get it, and I don’t blame him or anything, but...I dunno. I guess I wish he did.” He sighed and leaned back against his chair. “And a road trip alone...I just think it’d be better if Dean was there, too.”

I wasn’t offended. Sam and I have been best friends for about sixteen years. It still didn’t match the nine years he had alone with Dean before I came along.

Besides. I remembered hunting with Dean during the Stanford years. There’s something about him that hooks you, making you rely on that relationship no matter how independent and competent you insist on being.

My mouth opened, ready to spew some soothing remark about how it’ll all be okay, when the back door opened and in walked Dean, wiping his hands on a bandana. He stopped when he saw us at the table. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he raised his chin at Sam. “You tell her your big news?”

Sam hurriedly glanced at me. “Yeah...just now.”

Dean pursed his lips together and nodded. “We, uh, just finished. So Dad’s checking over the truck real quick. You better get ready.” And with that, he turned and went upstairs.

Sam sighed. “Dean…” He scrambled out of his chair and followed him. 

I slumped in my seat and sipped my coffee, running through scenarios of how this trip could end. A couple minutes later, the back door opened again, and I turned to see Dad walk in. “Hey there,” he said, making his way to the sink and washing his hands. 

“Hi.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. I had a list of questions on the tip of my tongue, but felt guilty barraging him while he was soaped up at the sink. When he finished, he wiped his hands on a towel and sat next to me, pausing to plant a kiss on my cheek.

“Still having trouble sleeping?” Concerned eyes studied me with the skilled practice of someone who knows how to assess others.

I was just annoyed that it was impossible to have privacy in this family.

Shrugging, I took another sip of coffee. “It’s getting better.”

Satisfied with my answer, he leaned back, toying with the hand towel he snagged off the counter. “So. You talk to Sam?” He kept his eyes on the towel and his voice neutral.

I set my mug down and carefully chose my words. “I did…care to elaborate?”

His gaze flickered to me before returning to the towel. “I was hoping you would.”

I spread my hands in front of me. “What am I supposed to say? I can’t really give an opinion without knowing what you’re thinking. I mean, not bringing Dean is a sticking point, but you already knew that. Not bringing anyone else is a _tricky_ point, but you already knew that, too. I guess the question is, why? I mean I get why you want the books, but why take just Sam? I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

Dad met my eyes and raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I thought you couldn’t give an opinion.”

I tossed him a sour look and drank my coffee, waiting for an answer.

Sighing, Dad set the towel aside, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m scared shitless about this demon blood thing, Kate. I’m trying real hard not to show it, but I am." He swallowed and took a shaky breath. "Despite everything that’s happened between me and Sam, sometimes he looks at me, and it’s like he’s waiting for me to fix everything - to give him answers, to make it all better.” His eyes dropped to the table. “He hasn’t looked at me like that in almost twenty years.”

He paused and looked at me. “I failed him when he was growing up, I failed him when he went to Stanford. I just...I can’t fail him in this, Kate, I can’t.” He hastily wiped at his eyes, took a deep breath, and murmured, “And I guess I’m being a selfish bastard, because I want him looking at me that way again. I want to be the one to fix it.”

“You haven’t failed him, Dad. You’ve always done what you thought was best. That’s not failing someone.”

He sighed, shaking his head back and forth. “No - I did. I know that, now. But I can make up for it. I _need_ to make up for it.”

It didn’t matter whether I agreed with his sense of failure or not, Dad had that familiar aura of desperation about him. Only this time, instead of needing to hunt, he needed to parent.

I reached out and took his hand in mine, squeezing gently. He huffed a small smile, and ran his other hand through his hair. I sighed and said, “Just...don’t kill him.”

**xxxxx**

We all stood on the porch watching Sam and Dad climb into the truck. Bobby groused, “I feel like I should be waving a lace hanky at ‘em. For fuck’s sake, they’re just going to pick up some books.”

We all nodded in agreement, but even Adam understood the potentially volatile combination locked inside that vehicle. Sam smiled and raised a hand at us from the front seat. Adam waved back enthusiastically. Bobby nodded his head. I smiled. Dean just stood there, arms folded across his chest, jaw muscles clenching and unclenching. As soon as the truck hit the street, he turned and went inside without a word.

When the door closed behind him, Adam turned to us. “They really are attached at the hip, huh?”

Bobby snorted. “You have no idea.” He looked at me carefully. “I did some digging and found a hunt. I think it’d be good to get him outta here...distract him for a bit.”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah...that sounds like a good idea.”

Adam looked between Bobby and me. “You _sure_ that’s a good idea?”

Bobby scoffed, “Best distraction for Dean is to let him kill something. Takes his mind off other stuff. I’ll go pull the info.” He clapped Adam on the shoulder and went inside.

I faced my younger brother, knowing that he wasn’t talking about Dean.

He sighed and leaned against the porch railing. “You sure _you’re_ okay to go?”

I gave him an _Oh, please_ look.

Adam held up his hands. “I know - you’ve already been on a couple hunts since the whole...thing with you.” No one wanted to say Charles’ name. It made me feel like I was in a Harry Potter story. “This is _different,_ and I just…”

I kept up my withering look, and listened to his voice trail off and end in a little huff. Smiling, I stood next to him and nudged his shoulder. “It takes time to work through stuff, Adam. You know that. I’ll be fine. Dean needs this.”

“I know, I know. Just...be careful.” He lay his head on my shoulder, prompting me to lay mine against his.

“I will. You should convince Bobby to take you to visit Ellen and Jo for a few days.”

Adam snorted, jostling me. “Duh…”

**xxxxx**

Clutching a small pile of papers fresh from Bobby’s printer, I knocked on the doorframe to Dean and Sam’s room and peeked inside. Dean was going through the clothes in his dresser. Apparently the socks needed to be in the second drawer, not the third.

He looked up, taking in the papers and my overly eager expression. “What’s up?”

Waving the papers at him, I smiled. “Bobby found a nice little Black Dog over in Coronado National Forest.”

He pressed his lips together, thinking.

“ _Arizona,_ Dean, where there’s a restaurant that sells a two foot long hot dog smothered in chili.” I bounced on Sam’s bed, watching Dean’s cheek twitch at the mention of chili. “C’mon. It’ll do you good. Besides…it’ll be like the old days - Kate and Dean Winchester, together again!” I gestured grandly with my hands, hoping the ridiculousness of my actions would _at least_ spark a smile. 

He snorted.

Close enough.

“Yes! I’ll get packed.” I rolled off Sam’s bed and headed to my room.

“Kate!”

Turning around, I saw Dean shifting a pair of socks between his hands “Yeah?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “It should be _Dean_ and Kate Winchester. The oldest goes first.”

I sighed with mock exasperation. “Whatever, man. Just don’t share a bed with me after you eat those hot dogs.”

_Now_ he laughed. 

Mission accomplished.

**xxxxx**

It took a few days to track down the Black Dog and kill it. I came away with a slightly sprained wrist, and Dean had a gorgeous bruise on the right side of his face. All in all, pretty good.

The only downside was Dean’s sour attitude, constantly checking his phone for messages, muttering things under his breath, and generally wanting _to just finish already_ and go back to Bobby’s to wait for Sam. For the most part, I was patient and understanding.

By day three, I was just as pissy.

We returned from burning the dog and I simply reeked of smoke and dead canine. I started to gather my supplies for a shower when Dean huffed and pulled at his chin.

“Whaaaat?” I asked wearily, pulling fresh clothes from my bag, careful not to use my bad wrist. I knew what was coming, and I wasn’t in the mood for it.

“Nothing. Just thought maybe we could get on the road tonight.”

_Bingo_. 

I snapped. “Well, I need to wash charred bitch off me, if you don’t mind. Then sure - we can head right on out so you can be sitting on the porch looking pretty for when Sam gets back.” I checked my phone. “Ooh...It’s only midnight. So the two hours we get in tonight before you start nodding off, forcing us to sleep on the side of the road, will surely make all the difference in the world.”

I stomped to the bathroom and slammed the door behind me, leaving a gaping brother in my wake.

I understood his apprehension over Sam - I really did, because I shared it. But I thought that time with me would be enough to pull him away from moping. Instead, time with me was just more of a reason _to_ mope, because I wasn’t Sam.

So I guess that made me sulky, too.

Besides, we were both exhausted from the fight, and driving now, when there was no way we’d make it back in one shot, was just plain stupid.

By the time I was done with my shower (sue me - I took twenty minutes), I wasn’t pissy anymore. In fact, as usual, I felt bad for mouthing off when I knew Dean wasn’t making me feel bad on purpose. It wasn’t fair of me to turn this into a _me_ issue. 

Shit, when did I become Sam?

As I walked out of the bathroom, I froze when I saw him calmly waiting on his bed, a fresh change of clothes in his hands. He slowly stood, his bruise now covering his entire cheek, purple and ugly. “Gonna shower before going to bed.” He quietly shouldered past me and into the bathroom before I could properly process his words.

I would have felt worse for the whole tantrum except that I was really fucking glad we were sleeping here instead of the Impala. I shoved my dirty clothes into a plastic bag and crawled into my bed with the remote for the TV. Nothing was on, so my mind wandered off, trying to figure out the best way to apologize without him shushing me for talking about _feelings._

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, something was nudging my left shoulder. Blearily, I looked up, realizing that Dean was bumping me with his hip. I wasn’t fully awake - that’s the only way I could justify the words that came out of my mouth. “Dude - don’t fart on me.”

Dean snickered and nudged me again. I blinked a few times and noticed he balanced two pints of ice cream and a bottle of Advil in his hands. 

Standard big brother apology. 

I scooted over, letting him sit. He handed over one of the pints and a plastic spoon.

It was cold, had some chocolate in it, and it made me want to cry for being such a brat earlier.

He wiggled the bottle of pills at me. “Did you take anything for your wrist?”

I thunked my head against the wall. SulkyKate wasn’t any smarter than SulkyDean.

He snorted and poured two pills onto my palm. “Keep your wrist against the container. It’s starting to swell a little. I’ll wrap it in the morning.”

Nodding, I swallowed the pills and pulled off the ice cream lid. Dean had the remote in his hand and was already sifting through the channels. I was about to tell him there was nothing on when once again, he managed to find an action movie starring a comedian. He settled the remote on the nightstand and tucked into his ice cream.

I poked at mine, wondering if I should say anything. Without looking at me, he scolded, “Quit playin’ and eat before it melts. And keep it against your wrist, like I said.” I huffed a small smile and started eating. 

Dean shifted a little closer so our shoulders touched, and I lay my head on him as we watched the movie.

**xxxxx**

“Copacabana” woke me up. Why the fuck was Barry Manilow singing in our motel room?

_Oh riiiiight_...Sam and I changed Dean’s ringtone the day before Dad and Sam left. It was supposed to be hilarious. Instead it was annoying as fuck.

“Dean…” I mumbled. I reached out to wake him, then remembered that he was back in his own bed. Clearing my throat, I called again, “Dean!”

A sleepy, groggy voice answered me. “Hmmmm...what? What the _fuck’s_ that noise?” 

“Your phone. Long story. Answer it, for the love of God. Make it stop.”

Yeah, I needed to let Sam know that it was only funny during the daytime.

There was fumbling, mild swearing as something hit the carpet, then a small beep. “Yeah?...Dad? Whoa, wait, what??”

I sat up, instantly awake. _Ohshit, ohshit, ohshit…_

Dean was propped on one elbow, the other massaging his forehead. He was grunting, and nodding at whatever Dad said, not giving a clue as to what was going on.

“But he’s okay? … Yeah, okay. … Sure...see you at home. Yeah.”

Another beep, and he flopped back on his bed, tapping the phone against his forehead and sighing.

“What happened?” I asked. I figured out they were okay, but still, something happened, and my heart was pounding in my chest.

Dean sighed once more. “Apparently Sam got cursed.”

I inhaled sharply. “Cursed? How the fuck do you get cursed while picking up some books?”

Dean let out a noise indicating agreement with that sentiment. “They got the books, then decided to check out a hunt that popped up close by. Some witch whammied Sam, and now they’re heading back home.”

I blinked, trying to process everything Dean said. “What’s the curse?”

Dean sat up a little and looked at me. The little moonlight that streaked in the room landed on Dean’s face. The bruise looked dark and angry, but his eyes were...amused? 

Face scrunched up, I asked, “What?”

“Apparently, Sam’s a little kid. Just like I was.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. The possibilities ran through my mind like a gale force wind. 

_A Little Sam!_

"I know." Dean rolled on his back, grinning at the ceiling. "Payback time."

I grinned along with him, settling back on my pillow. If Dean wasn't worried, then I wasn't worried. Still, I found myself wanting to get on the road. Funny how _resentment_ at going back for Sam can quickly become a _need_ to go back for Sam.

I remembered my lesson from when Dean was cursed. Worry before amusement. "But he's okay, right?" 

Dean flapped his hand at me. "Yeah. Dad said he's fine."

Then there was silence. I knew what he was waiting for, even before I saw him fidgeting with his phone. 

I checked my own - it was almost five. Eh, we slept enough. "So when can we leave?"

Dean flashed me a look, and maybe he was holding his breath. I smiled. "We can't miss a second of this."

He smiled back and threw off his covers. "Let's get going."

**xxxxx**

It took a while to get home. We took turns driving, avoiding another motel stay. Dean really wanted to get back, which totally justified my driving the Impala when he wasn't dying. 

We pulled into the driveway around dinnertime the second day. Dad and Sam had been back since yesterday morning, and Dean was twitching at the thought of Dad alone with a four-year-old Sam. He remembered how well Dad handled a four-year-old Sam twenty _years_ ago, and we both remembered how he handled a five-year-old Dean several _months_ ago.

As Dean parked the car, we stared at the sight before us. 

"Are they playing soccer?" I asked, not trusting my eyes.

Dean frowned, pulling the keys from the ignition. "...Yes?" He answered hesitantly, unsure himself.

But there they were, laughing and kicking an old soccer ball back and forth. Dad looked...relaxed. More relaxed than I've seen him in a long time. Sam was running around, enthusiastically kicking the ball and shouting at Dad to kick it back. 

Something was wrong with this picture.

We slowly exited the Impala and walked around her front. Dad saw us and waved, taking his eyes off Sam long enough to miss his next kick, which sent the ball to that special spot right between his legs. Dean and I winced (Dean covered his mouth), as Dad buckled. Sam gleefully shrieked with victory and jumped up and down.

Okay, something was _seriously_ wrong with this picture. 

Sam finally figured out Dad was in a _tiny_ bit of pain, and ran over, putting a hand on Dad’s shoulder. Dad looked at him, his face beet red, and smiled. No yelling, no swearing, no scolding.

_He smiled._

Dean ran a hand through his hair and leaned close. “Is he drunk?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but…”

I trailed off then Sam turned and spotted us and the Impala. His eyes widened and he said something to Dad, who nodded slowly as he climbed back to his feet. Taking Sam by the hand, they walked towards us.

Dean shifted his weight and licked his lips.

They stopped a few feet away, and we stood there, nervously smiling at each other. Sam tugged on Dad’s arm. “Is that really Dean?” He whispered, his eyes going wide.

_Oh fuck…_

When Dad said Sam was a little kid...he meant that _Sam was a little kid._

Dad squeezed Sam’s hand. “Yep - it sure is, Sammy.”

Sam let go of Dad’s hand and took a couple steps closer. Dean automatically squatted so he was eye-level with Sam… _Sammy…_ who couldn’t stop staring. “ _Whoa_...you’re old!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Dad before answering. “Yeah? Well, you’re short.”

Sam considered this, before taking another step closer. He brought his face close to Dean’s - so close that their noses were almost touching. Then he smiled. “But it’s you - I can tell it’s you.” His arms went around Dean’s neck, and squeezed tight.

Dean hesitated barely a second, before he enveloped his brother with slightly shaking arms, his eyes closing as one hand cupped the back of Sammy’s head. Sammy snuggled against his neck. “It smells like you,” he murmured.

Dean huffed. “I didn’t shower today - just for you.”

Sammy giggled, wriggling closer.

Then he caught sight of me. “Is this your girlfriend?”

I almost choked - partly at the expression on Dean’s face (which really shouldn’t have been that mortified) and partly because it cemented something I was hoping to avoid.

Sam didn’t know me at all. Our whole history was gone - a story completely unwritten, and whose future was truly unknown.

My breath caught in my throat, and I turned to Dad. He sighed and wiped a hand down his face. He held out his hand. “Come in for dinner... I’ll explain everything.”

**xxxxx**

Dinner was uneventful. Sammy tossed strange looks my way, like he couldn’t figure out how a girl fit into their lives. Adam was a total non-issue - Sam accepted the news of another brother with ease. A sister was different story.

I wanted to cheekily remind him that he didn't have a problem with me when it happened the first time. The original time. When he was nine. Even though he's now four - yeah I just let it drop.

After we ate, Dad and Bobby cleaned up, which was code for _the grown-ups need to talk alone for a minute._ Dean sent Sammy to brush his teeth and get a coloring book and crayons, giving the second generation of grown-ups a minute to talk alone.

“What’s he been like?” Was the first question Dean asked Adam as we sat on the couch.

Adam sighed and shrugged, checking the stairway for an eavesdropping Sammy or Dad before answering. “He’s been like...like _this._ Like, he’s four. He’s active… _really_ active, and _ohmygod,_ he never shuts up.” Dean and I snorted. “It’s like, nonstop questions all day. And Dad...he’s…” Adam’s expression became thoughtful, like he was trying to find the right words to say.

Dean snorted. “He even been around?”

I looked at him sharply, hearing the snarky tone and lingering resentment.

Adam looked surprised. “What? Yeah - he’s been here the whole time. He and Sam have been inseparable, actually. I was gonna say that he’s been...nicer...since they’ve been back. I mean, not that he wasn’t nice before,” he added quickly. “It’s just...I dunno. He reminds me of how my mom was when I was little.” He finished in a small wistful voice, and lowered his eyes to the floor.

I had two reactions to this: The first was sympathy for Adam. Sometimes it was real easy to forget that he was still dealing with his mom’s death, and I made a mental note to pay more attention to that little detail. The other was harder to describe. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Adam’s recounting of Dad’s actions over the last day or so. It’s just that Dad went out of his way to avoid Dean when he was cursed, and granted, Little Dean was still Big Dean on the inside, but he struggled with that curse, and Dad’s reassuring presence would’ve gone a long way towards making Dean feel better.

I glanced at Dean, whose face closed off at Adam’s explanation. I caught a moment of...something...Jealousy? Disbelief? Anger? Sadness? A combination?...before the mask took over. Stuff was churning in there, and Dean wasn’t about to share. 

Not now, anyway.

Sammy skipped back into the living room, now wearing pajamas and carrying a coloring book and crayons, as directed. He crawled onto the couch next to Dean, forcing me to scoot closer to Adam so he had room. The book opened up, and Sammy settled against Dean, carefully coloring within the lines. He coughed against his wrist before shoving a yellow crayon in the box in favor of a purple one.

Adam leaned forward, elbows on his knees and fingers massaging his temples. Frowning, I rubbed the back of his neck. “You okay? I asked softly.

He leaned into my hand and nodded. “Yeah, just have a headache.”

I threaded my fingers into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed.

Without looking up, Sam asked, “Is Adam yours?”

Then they shot open. 

Blinking, I looked at Sam, then at Dean, who shrugged and shook his head. _No idea…_

“What do you mean, Sam?” I asked, noting that _Dean’s_ hand was on the back of _Sam’s_ neck.

“You can call me Sammy. Everyone does. And I meant, is Adam _yours?_ ”

First off, I wasn’t about to explain to him that _I_ don’t call him Sammy. Secondly...

I looked at Adam, who shook his head. _I dunno, either…_

Sammy patiently tried again, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he continued coloring. “Like, I’m Dean’s, so is Adam yours?”

_Oh…_  
  
The casualness with which he asked belied how young he was. Typical Sam. I wasn’t sure how to answer him, so I wisely said, “Um…”

The three adults traded looks, our faces revealing more than our mouths ever would.

_Me: **Yes,** he’s mine...but Dean is **really** mine...and so are you...and I’m Dean’s...and yours…and..._

_Adam: **Yes,** I’m hers! But **she’s** mine, too, and I want to be Dean’s and yours, and…_

_Dean: I dunno if he’s hers, but **you** are **mine,** and they’re a little less mine, but **still** mine, and I **think** I’m hers, so…_

The spiderwebby connections were overwhelming, and proved just how fucked up and close Winchester siblings were. I marveled at how much angst came from one simple question.

Sammy traded the purple crayon for a blue one. “Cuz all little brothers should belong to someone so they get taken care of and stuff.”

Consciously or not, I couldn’t be sure, Adam reached up and took my hand in his, squeezing gently, his eyes back on the floor. Dean wrapped an arm around Sammy’s shoulders, pulling him close and eliciting a yelp as the movement made him color out of the lines. 

No one said anything. Instead, we sat there, listening to Sam’s crayons scratch across the paper. I kept my hand on the back of Adam’s neck, massaging gently, Sam’s words echoing in my mind.

Dean pulled him even closer, and was helping finish the picture when Dad and Bobby wandered in. Dad shot Bobby a look, who answered it with a small nod, and they both sat down. 

This should be good.

As Dad launched into his story, Sam crawled onto Dean’s lap, the coloring forgotten. I settled back against the couch, and Adam settled against _me._

I guess he really is mine after all.

Dad took a deep breath. “Okay. So...here’s what happened…”

Essentially, this book owner asked for their help on a hunt not far from where he lived. It wasn’t an exact exchange for the books, but Dad and Sam felt obligated all the same. It turned out to be the angry spirit of an angry witch, making the whole thing more interesting. 

“But this is a fu-- I mean, messed up curse. What was the reason behind it? What did Sam do?” Dean glanced down at Sammy, who was busy wriggling for a comfortable spot. He easily shifted so Sammy could curl up with his head tucked under Dean’s chin. 

Sammy yawned and rubbed his eyes, not really paying attention to what was being said. I guess Dad wasn't that riveting.

“Yeah, well...here’s the thing,” Dad said, a guilty look spreading across his face. “Sam’s not the one who was cursed.” Another panic-look at Bobby, who just gave him that nod again. Dad sighed. “I mean, he was, but I was cursed, too.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and my eyes went wide. I couldn’t see Adam’s face, but he did shift a little, telling me he definitely heard what Dad was saying.

“I - we...we both were reminiscing a little earlier that day about when Sam was little and stuff like that. I think that because it was on our minds, and we were a little...emotional about it...that’s the memory that stuck out when we got cursed, so…” 

Dad sat there with this helpless look on his face. Based on our conversation a few days ago, I knew this was a mixed bag for him. Probably kind of excited to have his kid back again, but on the other hand, scared as fuck.

I scratched my head. “So, what’re the details, here? I mean, did you get the spirit? Do you know how long this is supposed to last?”

I glanced at Sammy. His eyes were closed and his breathing was evening out. Dean ran his hand up and down Sammy’s back, pausing every once in a while to smooth down his hair. It reminded me, yet again, how tender Dean really was, despite his gruff exterior. 

Dad leaned back, his eyes on Sammy. Bobby answered for him. “Spirit’s definitely gone, so no worries there. Near as we can tell, the curse’ll probably last a couple weeks, give or take a few days. Ain’t gonna be permanent, but there’s no counterspell to hurry it up.” 

Sighing, I ran fingers through my own hair, feeling a little like Dean with all the gestures. “Alright, so we have a Little Sam on our hands for a while. No big deal, right? We can handle this.”

Dad watched Dean tighten his arms around Sammy, pulling him close. “Yeah…” Dad said. “We can handle this.”

Sammy’s eyes blinked open at Dean’s movement and mumbled, “Daddy, can I sleep with Dean tonight?”

Dean bit his lip, looking expectantly at Dad. Dad smiled and nodded. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

Sammy sighed and snuggled closer. “Yayyyy…” he murmured, too tired to give any more oomph to his approval of Dad’s decision.

Adam nudged me. “I’ll stay in my own room.”

I shoved him off the couch. “Yayyyy…”

**xxxxx**

The next couple days were fairly uneventful, considering we were dealing with a major curse affecting two family members. Sam and Dean played a lot, with Dad taking over when Dean was worn out. 

“Fuck, I forgot how much energy it takes to raise a Sam.” Dean plopped into a chair at the kitchen table, where I was absently poking at a sandwich. He wiped a hand across his forehead and nodded at me. “Any more turkey?”

I gestured at the fridge. “Yup...plenty left.”

He grunted and made his way to the fridge, and began pulling out food. Over his shoulder, he called, “You okay?”

I bit my lip to stop myself from sounding bitter, choosing to rip the crusts off my sandwich instead. I’d barely seen him, Dad or Sammy in the past couple days. 

Little Dean had been mostly my responsibility. And while the thought of being a mother was overwhelming, I found myself enjoying that role. I’m not sure why I thought I’d have a major role in taking care of Little Sam, because, _hello_ \- meet Dean and John Winchester, two men chomping at the bit to provide Sam Winchester a second chance at a normal life. 

Still, I thought that maybe we’d do _something_ together. I mean, fuck, why can’t I have a playdate with my brother like everyone else?

Christ, that’s whiny.

To make it more fun, Bobby and Adam went to the Roadhouse to visit Ellen and Jo, and I wasn’t about to summon an angel because I was lonely.

I studied Dean’s back as he began assembling his lunch. The past couple days were a real treat for Dean. I know he started thinking it was a simple matter of payback for when he was small...but once the reality of _four-year-old-Sam_ sunk in, his big brother/paternal instincts kicked into high gear, and he was all over it.

Right now, though, something was different. There was a tension in his shoulders I didn’t notice before. But like I said - I haven’t seen much of them, so I suppose if it’d been there a while, it was easy to miss. Regardless, it felt out of place, so, like a good little Winchester, I deflected his question and tried to refocus the conversation.

“Where’s Dad and Sammy?” The name still felt funny on my lips, but I gave up holding on to Adult Sam’s name. It helped remind myself that the little boy wasn’t the man I missed. Not yet, at least.

“Dad went to town for some stuff. Took Sammy with him for ice cream.” He shrugged, licking mayonnaise off his fingers as he carried his plate to the table. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I’m peachy. You’re the one who looks like his britches are in a twist. What’s up?”

Dean picked up his sandwich. “Dad’s given us a hunt.” 

I looked up in surprise. “A hunt? _Now?_ ”

“Lives are at stake, Kate,” Dean muttered around a mouthful of sandwich. “God forbid we stay home and take care of each other for a minute when someone else may need a skeleton burned.” 

_Ouch._

He avoided my gaze, and kept focus on his plate and the rapidly disappearing sandwich, which I was pretty sure he didn’t even taste. After watching him almost choke on an enormous bite, I thunked him on the back and got up to get him some water.

“Jesus, Dean, slow the fuck down.” His irritation was evident now, and he dropped the sandwich in favor of the water, scattering the bread and meat across the surface of the plate. I sat down again and leaned back, giving him the illusion of some space.

He swallowed, closed his eyes for a moment, then set the glass down. _Now_ he met my eyes, and his voice was a little calmer. “A buddy of Dad’s called, looking for help. He’s got a pissed off spirit in a new house he just bought, and it’s freaking out his whole family. Almost killed his wife. Dad’s decided that _now_ is a good time to start being a dad, so he’s obsessed with being the best dad in the universe. Ergo, the hunt falls to us.”

Ergo? Really?

He clumsily began putting his sandwich back together, and shoved a huge chunk into his mouth, the choking incident from thirty seconds ago long forgotten. I thought about what he said, and carefully responded. “So...while I think that going on a hunt when Sam and Dad are still cursed is a bad idea...what I don’t get, is what’s so bad about Dad trying to be there for Sammy?”

It was a little unfair, because I already knew what was swirling in Dean’s brain. There wasn’t anything bad about this - and he knew it. He was resentful, and that emotion packs a punch. The sandwich ended up on the plate again, and Dean wiped his hands on a napkin as he leaned back in his chair.

He was pissed that Dad couldn’t give him the time of day when he was cursed to be young.

He felt like his territory was being invaded as Dad shouldered his way past Dean to Sam.

He was stinging because Dad wanted to be a better parent to Sam, and not him.

He wasn’t used to competition when it came to Sam.

I wanted to give him a hug, as lame as that sounds, but I didn’t want to get punched, so I settled for folding my arms across my chest in an effort to keep them from reaching out.

Dean shoved his plate aside and wiped a hand down his face. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with it. Dad wants us on the road tonight if possible.”

I sighed, “Dean…”

He plastered that fucking mask on his face, forcing a grin he didn’t feel and reaching out to ruffle my hair. “C’mon...good old days, right?” He winked and left the kitchen, his steps heavy on the stairs to his bedroom.

**xxxxx**

We didn’t even wait for Dad and Sammy to return. Dean assured me he said goodbye and that Sammy knew we were leaving.

Didn’t change that _I_ didn’t say goodbye, but apparently that didn’t matter. I did call Adam and let him know we were leaving. It figures that he and Bobby were returning that night. Fucking Winchester timing.

The ride was quiet, Dean’s music notably not blaring from the stereo. We were both lost in our own thoughts as the Impala rumbled down the highway. A couple hours in, Dean’s phone rang, earning me a glare. He cleared his throat before answering.

“Yeah? … Hey Derek. … Yeah, we’re on our way. Should be there in a few hours. … Yep, Dad told us where you guys were staying. … Oh, sweet, thanks. … It’s no big deal, really. We’ll get this wrapped up as fast as possible. … Uh-huh. … Seeya soon. Yeah. Bye.” He beeped his phone off and tossed it on the seat. “That was Derek.”

“I figured that when you said hey Derek.”

Dean swatted me on the arm and rubbed his eyes. “They’re staying in a hotel on the edge of town. He booked us a room.”

“Wow...that’s nice of him. Wait… _hotel?_ Not motel?” I turned to face him, hope in my voice.

Dean nodded, flashing me a grin. “Yup. We’re on the fifth floor.”

“Oh...wow...maybe this won’t be so bad.” I winced once the words were out of my mouth, remembering our chat in the kitchen. 

Luckily, he just nodded again in agreement. “Yeah. Too bad Sam is missing it. He’d kill for a hotel stay where the atmosphere isn’t pure shit.”

I grinned back, relieved that the aura in the car was a little more relaxed. I guess we needed someone to use the S-word without angst in order for us to just chill.

Conversation flowed from there, as we discussed the case. Derek was an old friend of Dad’s from the military. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in Dad’s unit, but was a really good guy. He knew a little about Dad being a hunter, and didn't really take stock in it until this spirit tried to knock his wife down some stairs.

That's how people start to believe in the Supernatural. There’s nothing like an up close and personal experience with your worst nightmare to shake your entire belief system.

I glanced at Dean who was rubbing at his eyes again. "You want me to drive?" I asked.

Dean's face soured, and before he could rip my head off, I retreated, my hands in the air and an innocent look on my face. "Just asking. You look tired, that's all."

Dean slumped in his seat, but tightened his grip on the wheel. "I guess playing with a four-year-old took more outta me than I thought."

I snickered and resumed looking out the window. I wanted to say that I wouldn't know, but I kept my mouth shut.

**xxxxx**

The hunt was a spectacular disaster. There are no other words to describe it.

First off, it wasn't a spirit. It was a poltergeist.

Second, it wasn't an ordinary poltergeist; it was on steroids.

Third, it took three days to figure this out and gather the shit we needed to banish it.

Finally, banishing a poltergeist isn't terribly difficult, until the civilian you're trying to protect decides to show up unannounced just as you’re about to shove the last mojo bag in the wall while dodging various flying objects.

The final result? A china cabinet was sent across the living room into Dean when he ran to protect a too-shocked-to-move Derek. It slammed Dean in the chest, ramming him against a wall. The doors shattered, sending shards of glass into my left thigh as I slid across the room to help.

Derek felt seriously awful, and we knew he meant well, but that didn't change Dean's bruised (maybe fractured?) ribs or the deep gashes my leg.

The trek back to the hotel was exhausting, but somehow we made it. We managed to get through the lobby and onto the elevator without causing a scene, which was amazing considering a) my pant leg was soaked in blood b) I was limping c) Dean was hobbling and clutching his chest and d) Derek would not shut the fuck up.

I pressed the button for the fifth floor with a shaky hand and leaned against the wall for support. The blood loss was making me dizzy.

“Holy shit - that was really real, wasn’t it? I mean, it was...I just...oh man, I’m just so sorry…”

Dean lay his head on my shoulder as a slight cough shook him. I couldn’t even lift my head off the wall. I just pressed my head against his.

_Make him stop._

_**You** make him stop. I’m trying to stay standing._

_I’m gonna kill him._

_Then what will we tell Dad?_

Derek chattered the whole way down the hall, apologizing again for interrupting and causing us to get hurt, but was clearly oblivious to the fact that we were barely making it to our room. He did go get us a bucket of ice, though, which was sweet of him.

Then Dean sort of shut the door in his face while saying goodnight.

He slid the locks in place as I gingerly sat on the edge of my bed. He turned to look at me.

He blinked.

I blinked.

He sighed, dragged a hand down his face, and gestured with his hands for me to get my pants off so he could examine my leg. At the same time, I nodded at him to remove his shirt so I could check his ribs.

We both grunted and did as we were told.

After all the stitches and poking and icing and bandaging and pill popping (Dean found some of the really good ones), we both crashed on our own beds. Dean was flipping through channels on the television, and as the power of the pills took over, I don’t think he was even watching what was on the screen. I know I wasn’t.

We both jumped when my phone beeped, the movement making Dean suck in his breath and groan.

It was Adam.

**when r u coming home?**

I frowned at the screen, partly because the words were moving around in an annoyingly dizzy pattern, and partly because Adam _never_ asked when we'd be home from a hunt.

"Whasshe want?" Dean slurred, his head lolling on his pillow towards me.

"Um..." It took a second for my brain to work. "Wants t'know when we're comin' home..."

Dean frowned at me. "Why's he askin'?"

I lolled my head at him. "I dunno...should I call him?"

"Prolly should, but you sound stoned." Like he was one to talk. His eyes were crossing a little. All four of them.

I huffed. "Shaddup...somethin's wrong if he's askin'..." I was aware of my slurring words, and I almost giggled at how I sounded.

Dean snorted. "Dude, call now. Blood loss and pain meds don't make for a good...talking." He blinked at me for a second then turned back to the TV.

Nodding, I hit Adam’s speed-dial number before I forgot what it was. I closed my eyes while waiting for him to answer, still wondering if this was a good idea. But I knew I couldn’t text him - the buttons on my phone kept moving. I shifted my leg a little, and winced as the stitches pulled. 

“Quit movin’ yer leg,” Dean admonished, “or you’ll pull the - ” He sneezed and gasped, “ _Ohhhhh_ fuck me…”

“Bless you,” I sighed, gripping the comforter as a spike of pain shot up my leg. Stupid cabinets. Stupid ‘geist. Stupid Derek. Stupid….things damn, this bed was soft. I _love_ pain pills.

“Kate?” Adam’s raspy voice his my ears, pulling me out of my mushy thinking. Something was off, and I scrunched up my face trying to make sense of it.

“Adam? What’s up?” I was proud of how lucid that sounded. I glanced at Dean, and he was nodding his approval, even though his eyes were trained on the TV.

There was coughing, and Adam asked, “I was just...I mean, how’s it going?”

“Adam...what’s wrong?” I couldn’t handle anything complicated or convoluted. I was too fucked up for it.

I heard a sigh. “I just...nothing.”

I sighed back. “Adam…” I copied the tone Dean used on Sam and I when we were kids. Surprisingly, it worked. He totally caved with a flood of words.

“Sam’s sick...he’s been carrying a flu-like virus and it finally hit him.” I took a deep breath and glanced quickly at Dean, whose eyes were now closed. “He’s fine,” Adam quickly added, “but he was - “ his words were interrupted by a rough sounding sneeze, followed by some coughing. It took a few seconds for my brain to register what was going on.

“ _Shit_...Adam…”

There was more coughing, followed by some nose blowing. “He’s okay, I mean, it’s just the flu or something. But he’s patient zero. Bobby’s been puking for a day, and now Dad’s got a fever - ” There was another sneeze, and a sigh. 

“You got it too, huh?” My drugged up brain remembered his headache and general achiness before he left to visit Jo.

“Yeah...but I’m okay, I swear,” he hastily added. 

_Riiiiight_...that’s why you want to know when I’ll be home.

“Adam...we can’t - “ I moved the phone away from my mouth as I hissed when another jolt of pain shot up my leg. I thought the pills would take care of this? “We can’t leave ‘til morning. I - We’ll get on the road as soon as we can, okay?”

I heard him swallow, a sign that he hoped we’d be on the road tonight. But there was no fucking way either of us could get behind the wheel. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure we could do it tomorrow either, but Dean would drive in any condition for a Sick Sammy, so I knew we’d be in the car no matter what.

What I didn’t expect, was my own desire to get on the road for a Sick Adam, so I wasn’t about to complain.

“Yeah...yeah, okay...no big deal.” He lies well. “I was just...wondering. Really - we’re okay. _You_ okay?”

I rubbed my forehead. “Yeah - we’re fine.” I lie well, too. “Just...just really tired. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Adam _‘mm-hmm’d’_ and we said our goodbyes. I was hoping that Dean dozed off during the conversation.

No suck luck.

“What’s goin’ on? Is Sammy okay?” I pried my eyes open to see a wobbly Dean propped up on an elbow, eyeing me. I didn’t mention that his eyes were totally unfocused.

“Yeah. No.” Dean hissed in a breath. “Nonono - I mean, they’re all sick. Sammy gave ‘em all the flu or something. So we’re goin’ home to a treat of puke and snot and stuff.”

Dean struggled with his blankets. “We should...they need… _Sammy…_ ” He couldn’t even get out a clear sentence, let alone untangle himself from the bedcovers. He twisted himself on accident, yelping when his ribs protested the whole idea of him moving.

“Dean…” _I_ tried to move, but I could barely get myself into a sitting position without getting dizzy. “ _We can’t leave now._ They’re _fine._ They’re _home_. No one’s dying. Let’s just...pass out and get on the road in the morning. We can’t…” I shifted my leg a little, grimacing at the effort. “We can’t drive…” That’s all the argument I had in me, as the pills took over. I flopped back against the pillow and sighed.

Dean did the same, huffing. 

We lay there, the TV softly trying to distract us, until we passed out.

**xxxxx**

The next morning, I woke to a stiffly moving Dean already shoving his bathroom stuff in his duffel. 

I glanced at the clock - it was six o’clock.

Whyyyyyy is he awake already?

Well, that’s a stupid question. I know exactly why he’s awake already.

“Lemmie check your stitches.” He carefully sat next to me, one arm across his middle.

“Good morning to you, too,” I answered in an overly sweet tone. I let him pull the blanket off and examine his handiwork. Good thing I brought shorts to sleep in.

Ignoring my tone, he sighed and pulled at his chin. “They look okay. Not my best work, though.” He rubbed at his eyes and sighed again, looking like _he’s_ the one who shoved glass through my skin.

“Hey…” I reached out and flicked his chin. “You were a little out of it last night. I’ll take sloppy Dean stitches over anyone else’s _anytime_.” I glanced down at the them. “Besides - considering the pain you were in...these are really good.”

He nodded slowly, but still looked like someone kicked his puppy. I nudged him again. “Pull up your shirt. I wanna see your ribs.” 

_Oooh_ \- now I got an embarrassed look. I ignored it, and sat up. He lifted his shirt with a sigh, and my eyes widened as the swollen bruise glared at me. Almost his whole chest was purple - the deep hue a reminder of what was on his face a few days ago. “Oh, _fuck_ , Dean…” I carefully ran my hands over him, testing to see if any bones shifted under my fingers.

He held his breath as I checked. Through clenched teeth, he grated, “Pretty sure they’re just bruised. But it hurts like a bitch.”

Nodding, I helped him pull his shirt down. Unable to stop myself, I put my hand in his hair and rubbed his scalp. He hummed a little, pressing against my hand, a brief smile on his lips. “We’re a mess, huh?” I asked.

He shrugged. “We’ve been worse.”

I shrugged with my eyebrows and gave his head one last squeeze before running my fingers through my own hair. “Okay, I’ll get up so we can get on the road.” I gently shoved him, until he got up and winced his way back to his own bed.

It took me a while to get cleaned up and packed, and a little longer for both of us to get into the car.

Once situated, we just sat for a minute, catching our breath. We chuckled softly. “Feel like I’m eighty…” Dean muttered, coughing a little and making a face at the pain. 

I looked at him sharply. “You’re coughing a bit…”

Dean glared at me. “You’re supposed to cough when your ribs are bruised, remember? Trying not to get a collapsed lung over here.” He turned the key in the ignition and patted the steering wheel as the Impala purred to life.

I pursed my lips and shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Just...with Sammy passing the plague onto everyone, it’s possible you caught it.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m fine.” Then he paused, eyes fixed on the keys. “At least I am right now. Let’s grab breakfast at a drive-thru and get going. We have seven hours to go.”

I blinked at him - did he just say what I think he said? I was tuning him out when I heard the ‘I’m fine’ and almost missed it. 

_Shit_...I’ll be driving soon.

**xxxxx**

A few hours in, we pulled over at a gas station doubling as a mini-mart. I was hobbling back from the bathroom watching Dean top off the Impala’s tank. As soon as the nozzle clicked home on the pump, his breath caught, and he stifled a sneeze into his shoulder.

I winced, as Dean gasped with pain. Hobbling faster, I made my way to his side, placing one hand carefully on his chest and the other on his back as he geared up for another.

The sneeze ripped out of him, ending in… _aw, shit_...a whimper. He twisted the corner of my shirt in his fist.

“Whoa, there...slow breaths, Dean, slow…”

He both nodded and rubbed his nose against my shoulder as he fought to regain control of his breathing.

“I’m driving,” I murmured into his ear.

He nodded again and slipped me the keys.

**xxxxx**

We finally pulled into our driveway, noting the absence of a soccer game and enthusiastic brothers crotch-kicking our father. 

“Leave the bags,” I yawned. “We’ll get ‘em later.”

Nodding in agreement, Dean yawned too, making an obnoxious noise from the back of his throat as he closed the door.

Slowly, we climbed the stairs and entered the house. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, Sammy came running into the kitchen, shouting, “ _DeanDeanDeanDeanDean!_ ” 

He made a beeline for Dean, and I knew we had mere seconds before Dean got another body slam. Dean’s eyes widened as that same thought occurred to him, and he took an involuntary step backwards, his arms protectively across his stomach.

Without thinking, I sidestepped in front of Dean, taking the brunt of Sammy’s lunge. I had turned a little to the side, cleverly giving myself more stability for when he hit.

What was stupid, was placing my injured leg in front, so Sammy rammed all my stitches head on. I faltered back a few steps, tears springing to my eyes and a soft “ _Ooooooof…_ ” escaping my lips. I felt the warmth of his fever in that brief contact, and wondered _why the hell_ he had all this energy. Dean shrank against the door, then blushed a deep red when he realized what he’d done.

Sammy bounced off me, giving me quite the SammyFace as he petulantly eyed Dean cowering behind me. “I want Dean!” He huffed, crossing his arms and continuing to glower at me.

Eyes watering, I staggered to the counter and leaned against it. I flapped a hand toward Dean. “He’s all yours…” I gasped.  
`  
Sammy’s eyes lingered on me for an extra second - I think he knew he hurt me - until he heard Dean call him. “Hey, kiddo…”

It was like someone fired the start gun at a race. Sam shot to Dean’s side, stopping just in front of him. “Dean!! You’re home! I’ve been sick, and so is Bobby and Adam and Daddy, too! And guess what? Bobby threw up in the kitchen! It was so gross!” He paused to cough - intending to cough in the crook of his arm, but he aimed too high and missed completely, spraying Dean’s legs in the process.

Somehow Dean managed to conceal the look of disgust on his face, and maintained the air of rapt attention on Sammy’s story. “ _And_ I’m watching TV with Daddy come on and watch with us come on it’s Thundercats!”

Then he ran out of the room.

Dean gave me a frantic look. “What the fuck was that?”

“Sick Sammy,’ I rasped, getting myself to a chair and plopping in it. A bright red spot appeared on the sweatpants I was wearing. “Oh hey...think I popped a seam, here…”

“Fuck…” Dean sat across from me, slowly pulling my pant leg up.

I batted his hand. “Easier going down, Dean.” He snickered, and I smacked the top of his head. 

Just as Dean started helping me pull down my pants (I had shorts on underneath!), Dad walked in. 

A polaroid moment for all the wrong reasons.

“Um…” 

Dean craned his head around and rolled his eyes at Dad. “Checking stitches over here.”

Dad’s glassy eyes sharpened at that, and he quickly moved to my side. “What happened?” His hair was a greasy mess that clung to his head, and I could smell something sour and stale on him. The unidentifiable stain over his left collarbone was a good indicator that he probably hadn’t changed his clothes in a few days. He squatted next to me, eyes raking over my thigh and Dean’s handiwork. He had this weird expression on his face, his lips pulled thin and his eyes a tad haunted.

Dean leaned back, eyes drifting to me before answering. “Just...it was a little tougher than we thought, that’s all.”

I snorted and reached for a napkin to wipe the blood trailing down my leg. “Bullshit. We’re not taking the hit on this one.” I turned to Dad. “It was a poltergeist, and a nasty one. To top it all off, Derek, while a very nice man, showed up to help without warning us ahead of time. Dean got hurt saving his ass.”

Dad’s head swiveled towards Dean. “Where are _you_ hurt? Show me.” I could see him shaking as he tried to stay on his feet for the exam.

Dean saw it too. He quickly wet his lips and reached out a hand to steady Dad. “Sit down before you fall over...Jesus, you’re shaking like crazy.”

Dad scrubbed a hand over his face and grunted as he got to his feet. He dragged over a chair and sat heavily in it, narrowing his eyes and gesturing at Dean to show him the injury, already.

Dean sighed and lifted his shirt, mumbling about being on exhibit. I huffed a laugh while dabbing at the blood on my leg. Dad leaned in and examined Dean, careful not to touch him. “My hands are like ice...I...I don’t wanna touch you...but _goddammit_ that’s nasty looking…” He met Dean’s eyes. “How bad?”

Dean tugged his shirt down, flinching as his hand grazed skin. “Pretty sure they’re just bruised. How’re _you_ doing? You look like shit warmed over.”

Dad dug the heel of one hand into his eye. “It’s been a fucking _disaster_ over here. Sammy just...I dunno if it was an aftereffect of the curse, or if he picked up something, or whatthefuck. At first we thought it was Adam... kid had a headache for a couple days, and we thought maybe that was the start of it.” He sighed and looked towards the living room. “Turns out, once we really looked at it, Sam’d been coughing and probably running a low fever for a while, but because he’s been fucking running around like a crazy person, I didn’t put the pieces together.” 

He snatched a napkin and sneezed into it. I murmured a bless you, to which he nodded. Dad was totally engrossed in his story. Coupled with his own obvious fever, he thankfully missed Dean’s face completely shut down. All Dean heard was Dad missed something as crucial as Sam being sick. He didn’t care what else Dad said.

“Anyway, Bobby started throwing up a couple days ago... Adam’s been buried in a Kleenex box, and I’ve been trying to keep up with Sam, who’s more or less okay during the day, but a coughing, hot mess at night. I just - “ He broke off, coughing, and I inched closer to rub his back through the fit. His shirt was damp with sweat (soooo disgusting) and I could feel the heat from his skin through the fabric.

Dean nodded his head and slowly stood. “I’m gonna check on Sammy.” 

Dad leaned against the table and nodded. “Thanks, Dean.” 

Dean pursed his lips, gave one terse nod back, and left. Dad’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing through his mouth. 

He had no idea what angsty tempest was brewing inside his oldest son.

I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead, trying to gauge what number matched his warmth. He sniffed and mumbled, “I don’t blame him for being pissed.”

_Oooh…_ maybe he _does_ have an idea.

“What are you talking about?” Dad + fever = ChattyJohn

He peeled open one eye and gave me a woeful look that rivaled Sam’s Eyes. “No matter what I do, it’s wrong. One of them always ends up hurt.” He coughed a little. “I focus on hunting, and keeping the family safe, and Sam hates me for ruining his life. I stay here and try to be a good father, and you and Dean are almost killed. I can’t seem to make the right choices.”

He made this noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh before closing that eye and resting his head in his hands. 

“Oh, Dad…” I rubbed the back of his neck, blinking away tears. I spoke in a soft, gentle tone, knowing that the fever was fucking with his reasoning...but that even without it, this was truly how Dad felt. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You made the right choices at the time, given the circumstances. Staying with Sammy was the right thing to do. You _know_ that.”

Without looking up, Dad muttered, “But I didn’t have to send you guys on a fucking hunt without me.”

I shrugged. “You’ve been doing that for years. Nothing different here.”

He blinked up at me. “I didn’t have to send you guys on a fucking hunt when I knew that Dean didn’t want to go, and I…” He swallowed, and sighed, laying his head back on his arms.

“...When you wanted Sam all to yourself?” I finished for him, feeling his shoulders tense under my hand. I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “You still did the right thing. Derek’s your friend, and you wouldn’t pawn a friend in need off on some random hunter. We know that. And wanting Sam to yourself? That’s understandable. Especially given their relationship. You...you wanted that chance again with Sam, and I don’t blame you for that.”

“ _He_ does.” 

I sighed. “ _He_ doesn’t think about it beyond just _Sam._ You created a monster there...but the monster isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s more like...competition.”

Dad’s head rubbed back and forth against his hands, and I realized, with a touch of panic, that Dad was crying. John Winchester was feverish and crying in our kitchen over his sons. 

“Don’t say anything to Dean.”

I ran my tongue along the edge of my teeth. “I won’t say anything. But you gotta stop the self-blame bullshit. You’re being a dad over a hunter, and there’s nothing wrong with that, okay?”

A shaky sigh sounded from between the mass of matted hair and sticky, sweaty arms, followed by a small nod.

I’ll take it.

“Good. While Dean’s got Sam, why don’t you, maybe, take a shower?”

Dad turned his head and gave me a pitiful look. “I’ve been sick. I can’t help it that I’m gross.”

So fevered Dads can also be sulky and whiny. Good to know.

I quickly planted a kiss on his brow. “I know. But you’ll feel better afterwards. I’ll check on Bobby and Adam...make sure they’re still alive.”

Dad sat up. “Yeah, um. It’s...I don’t know what it’s like up there.”

I raised my eyebrows at him.

He sighed. “I haven’t seen Bobby since he started puking. The first time was in the kitchen...took us all by surprise, that’s for sure. After that...he disappeared upstairs. Adam came down once in a while, but I...I haven’t been able to get up there and check on them.” More waves of guilt poured off him, and I waved them away as best as I could.

It was like Dean 1.0.

“It’s all good, Dad. We’re home now. We’ll take care of everything, okay? Go clean up, and we’ll work on getting everyone better.” One more kiss on his head, and he staggered out of the kitchen.

As soon as he left, I looked down and realized, _huh,_ I had that whole heartfelt conversation with my pants around my knees.

And no one fixed my stitches.

**xxxxx**

Halfway up the stairs, I noticed it. Not strong enough to send you away, but it was there nonetheless, lingering around the edges the way a guy hangs around a girl’s locker at school. My nose crinkled up at the faint scent of someone’s insides appearing on the outside.

By the time I reached the top step, I was irritated that I couldn’t move faster or more easily. The longer I had to breathe this shit in, the closer I came to tossing it myself. How anyone stood being up here was beyond me.

I stood in the hallway catching my breath, debating between Adam and Bobby. I finally decided that puking trumped sneezing, so I knocked on Bobby’s door and cautiously pushed my head inside.

Then I promptly closed the door.

If the smell was bad out _here,_ it was downright intolerable in _there._

I blew out a breath, pulled up my big girl pants, and went back in. A little stench wasn’t about to… _holy fucking shit_ what died in here? My eyes watered as I made my way to Bobby’s bed. He was huddled under a pile of blankets, shivering. 

_Oh, Bobby…_

He didn’t roll towards me, so I guessed he was asleep. I looked around the room for the source of “the rank”, and found it sitting on the floor next to the bed. A small garbage can, containing things that don’t need describing.

Grabbing the bin, I held it at arm’s length and carried it into the bathroom, where I washed it out with hot water. I’ve dealt with gross and disgusting things my whole life. A little cookie tossing wasn’t going to stop me from taking care of my boys.

However, I may have gagged a few times through the selflessness of it all.

When I walked back in Bobby’s room, he was facing me, his head the only visible part from under the blankets.

“Hey, Missy…” , he croaked in this miserable, gravelly voice. 

“Hey yourself…” I held up the garbage can like it was a trophy. “I don’t think you need what was in here…”

Bobby grunted and pulled the blankets tighter around him. “God, no. Thanks...I woulda done it, but…”

I cut him off. “You don’t have to do anything but get better.” I sat next to him, carefully hiding my blood stained pant leg. The last thing I needed was _him_ trying to take care of _me_. “Talk to me, Bobby. How’re you doing? Dad said you’ve been a little nauseous?”

Bobby choke-laughed at that. “Kate, I ain’t been this sick in close to thirty years. Not since I was...” He sighed, and pressed his lips together.

If this was bringing back memories of Karen, that made it all fifty bazillion times worse. 

I brushed my hand across his forehead, trying to guess at his temperature. He was cool and clammy to the touch, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t feverish. His skin was pulled tight on his face, and I could see pain lines around the corners of his mouth. “When was the last time you threw up?”

He briefly closed his eyes. “Sometime in the middle of the night. I’ve been in the bathroom for over twenty-four straight hours, at least I think it was.” He swallowed carefully, making a face at the pain in his throat.

I did some mental math. “Okay, so that means you’ve been puke-free for about twelve hours, which is good.” I looked around, eyeing the window and ceiling fan. “Think you can get cleaned up and drink something?”

Bobby swallowed again, testing the waters. “Yeah...probably...maybe?”

I snorted. “Okay, let’s get you to the bathroom. If you think you’ll be okay, I’ll get you clean clothes and some water.”

It took a little bit, but I helped stumble-walk Bobby to the bathroom, where he had strict instructions to use a lot of soap and toothpaste.

It was with great joy that we learned he had the strength to flip me off as I closed the door.

While Bobby showered, I quickly stripped his bed, cranked the ceiling fan and opened his windows. I contemplated burning the sheets, but I didn’t know if they had sentimental value. I settled on throwing them down the stairs, and was rewarded with a high-pitched shriek as they hit Sammy at the bottom.

Once the bed was clean and the air was decent enough to breathe without making faces or pulling my shirt over my nose, I sat down and rested. My leg was throbbing, and I figured probably burst a couple more stitches. 

The shower stopped, and I knocked on the bathroom door to check on him. “You still alive in there?”

“Yeah...yeah, I’m good. Just...gimme a couple minutes.”

“Take all the time you want...just wanted to see if you needed help.”

“There ain’t no way you’re comin’ in here if I did.”

I laughed. “Ain’t no way I’d want to, honestly. But if you needed me, I would. Just…” I sighed, levity gone. “Just tell me if you need help, okay?”

There was a pause. Then, “I will.”

I nodded to myself and grabbed some first aid supplies from the closet before heading to my room. I needed out of these pants, which were changing color before my very eyes as fresh blood seeped through the fabric. I peeled my sweats off and re-wrapped the wound. There was a pair of old cut-off sweats in my bottom drawer that came down past my knees. I pulled them on, then sat very still for a few moments, with my leg propped on a pillow.

My mind was still processing the complete dejection that radiated off Dad. Bobby’s condition scared me, I was already tired, my leg was a mess, and I hadn’t even gotten to Adam yet.

I just needed a minute to sit.

So naturally the bathroom door opened and I heard awkward shuffling down the hall.

Gritting my teeth, I hauled my leg to the floor and went to help Bobby.

“What happened to you calling me for help?” I snarled, looping his arm across my shoulders. I wasn’t sure how much help I would be, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch him wobble around like a baby taking his first steps.

Bobby flapped a hand at me, but tightened his grip around my shoulders. “Don’ wanna be a bother,” he whispered weakly. “A fucking shower just did me in. This is nuts.”

I bit my tongue to stop myself from scolding him, wanting him lying down and under the blankets before I lit into him for thinking he could ever, _in any reality,_ be a bother. He stopped at the bed’s edge, staring at it like he’d never seen it before. 

I figured there was nothing wrong with teasing him, though.

“So! This is your bed. You lie in it and get better when you’re sick.”

I waited for the smart-ass banter to begin, but instead, Bobby just stood there, tears in his eyes. He took a shuddering breath and ran a hand over his mouth.

“Hey… _hey_...what’s wrong? Christ, Bobby, sit down before you fall over.”

Turning an anguished face towards me as he sat, Bobby croaked, “You...you changed the sheets.”

I gave him an amused look. “I’m sorry...did you want them back?”

Bobby huffed as he lay down, interrupting his hissy-fit with a deep, contented sigh, as his face hit the clean pillowcase. “No… _no_...I just...you didn’t have to...”

Now I huffed. “I’m pretty sure I did. They were begging me to get them out of here, and probably would have drowned you in grossness if I didn’t.” I pulled the blankets over his shoulder, now trembling a little. “Besides,” I added softly, “You deserve everything and anything that could make you feel better.” I kissed his forehead, now warm and dry, and rested my head against his. “I’m so sorry you’re sick and I wasn’t here to take care of you.” I blinked back tears, and felt his hand grip mine.

We sat like that until I was pretty sure I wouldn’t start crying in front of him. The thought of him, alone, throwing up in his bedroom, with no one to even bring him water, filled me with guilt for not being here.

“Well,” he whispered in my ear, “You’re here now, so get me something to drink, dammit.” The jibe was soft, but well timed and with the right amount of fake heat to make me smile.

“Only because you used toothpaste.” I quickly kissed him, and got a small glass of water from the bathroom. “If you keep this down, I’ll bring you more, okay?”

He nodded and took a tentative sip. Satisfied that he’d keep it down, he drained the glass and let me place it on his nightstand. Once he settled against his pillow, I closed the window and fussed with his blankets, not wanting to leave him. 

Bobby peeled open one eye and pointed at the door. “Go see how Adam’s doin’.” He closed his eyes and snorted a little. “And get Dean to fix whatever’s bothering your leg.”

_Goddammit._

I let out a breath, and quietly left the room.

**xxxxx**

I knocked on Adam’s door, wondering what I’d find inside. If it weren’t for the unholy odor coming from Bobby’s room, I probably would’ve gone straight here first. 

I guess he _is_ mine.

I heard a muffled, “Combe id.”

That wasn’t congestion, that was _blockage._

Ewwww…

I poked my head inside. Wads of Kleenex covered every horizontal surface in the room. I even found one on a wall shelf - how the hell did it get _there?_ His garbage can was overflowing, and one empty box lay on its side on the floor.

The lump in the center of his bed sluggishly moved, and a tousled-headed Adam emerged, scattering tissue snowballs in every direction. His face was flushed and sweaty, nose a bright red, and his eyes were ringed by dark circles, telling me exactly how much rest he’d been getting.

“Hey...want some company?” I asked, forcing cheer and joy into my words.

“Kate…” He seemed to breathe my name, his body slumping with relief.

I stepped over the tissue landmines and sat next to him. Immediately, he shoved himself onto my lap, wrapping his arms around my waist, and resting his head on my thighs. Over his head, I made a face as he scrunched against my stitches. 

I ran my fingers through his hair, and laid one hand on his back. I could feel him struggling to breathe, his chest rattling under my fingers.

“Whed did you get here?” He sighed miserably, frustrated with his inability to draw a decent breath. 

"Not long ago. Cleaned Bobby up, and I thought I'd see how you were doing." Adam gave me one last squeeze before pulling away, his face flushed with embarrassment. He wiped some drool off his chin and shivered as he lay back against his pillow.

He sniffled. "This virus is kickidg by ass." He paused to cough. "How's Bobby doindg?"

I tucked him in, and moved a Kleenex box closer. "He's okay, I think. Hasn't thrown up in a while." I pulled a couple tissues and held them out as Adam geared up for a massive sneeze. He grabbed them just in time.

"Bless you," I offered, while Adam let out two more. 

He flopped back against his pillow and eyed me over the Kleenex pressed to his face. "So, he's better?"

I nodded. "He's on the mend." Reaching out, I swiped a hand across his forehead. It was fairly warm, but not too bad. "What's your number?" I asked, knowing that he used a thermometer at some point. Adam obsesses about shit like that.

"Beend around a hundred for two days." Another awful cough. "Cand't shake it." More coughing, followed by him spitting something gunky into his Kleenex.

"You need to sit with some steam. Loosen up this shit in your chest."

He sighed, tossing the used wad in the garbage. "Tried that. Didn't work." Another sneeze. Jesus, he's a mess.

I shifted a bit, trying to sit comfortably. "Well, we'll try again, only this time I'll make sure it works." I ran my hand through his hair again, biting my lip as I watched him breathe through his mouth. He closed his eyes and scooted closer, his embarrassment from a minute ago already forgotten. 

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner." The endearment rolled off my tongue, surprising me a little. Pet names aren’t my style...unless they’re slightly insulting. Adam didn't seem to mind.

" 's okay. Jus' glad you're homb...hombe...goddabbit...cand't talk..." He broke into another cough.

I couldn't stand it. "I'm getting the bathroom ready. You need steam. Now."

Adam didn't argue with me. I think he was just glad someone was here to take care of him and Bobby. 

He sneezed his way into the bathroom behind me with that Kleenex box in one hand. Once inside, he heavily leaning against the sink as I ran the shower as hot as it could go. I sent out a thanks to Bobby for installing the extra hot water heater when he and dad made our living here permanent. Next to the huge chest freezer in the basement, it was probably the smartest move those two made in the last couple months.

“C’mere…” I tugged on Adam’s sleeve, pulling him over to the edge of the tub, where he sat with his face still buried in a Kleenex. I shut the door and sat next to him, rubbing his back. Within seconds, he slumped against me, forcing me to hold him up, in order to keep us both from falling into the tub.

Eventually, I felt him shift a little, and the rattle in his chest became loose. He then spent the next few minutes clearing out his sinuses nonstop. Seriously, I didn’t think anything was left in him.

When he finally slowed down, the small garbage can was full, the water was running cold, and he wore a sheepish look on his face. I calmly patted him on the shoulder and ushered him back into his room. 

“Feel better?” I asked, rearranging the blankets for the fourth time.

“Yeah,” he answered, batting my hands away.

I wiped the sweat off my face. “Okay...you need some of that menthol crap and more Kleenex.”

Through a yawn, he mumbled, “We’re out.”

Well, shit.

“Bobby was godda go to the store but he dropped. Dad wouldn’t leave Sabby or take hib, so…”

Well, double shit.

I ran a hand down my face. Fuck, I’m turning into Dean more and more. “I guess I’m going to the store, then.” 

The last place I wanted to go to, was the store. I whined on the inside and painted a _so glad to go_ look on my face. 

**xxxxx**

After a quick check of the hall closet and the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, I confirmed that there was jack shit in the house for taking care of the wide variety of symptoms and multiple patients. I flopped into a kitchen chair and rested my head in my hands. _Don’t wanna go...don’t wanna go…_ the chant echoed in my head, competing with _got no choice...got no choice…_

“Hey...what’re you doing?”

I peeked through my fingers at Dean, standing in the doorway watching me with a confused look on his face. “I’m arguing with myself, and losing miserably.”

“Ah…” He nodded and joined me at the table. He looked down and noticed my fancy cut-off sweatpants. “ _Motherfucker_...I didn’t fix your stitches. Fuck, I’m sorry...I’ll do it now, then you need to go lie down.”

I waved him off. “Don’t bother. I have to go to the store. “

“ _What?_ Why?” 

Sighing, I leaned back and scrubbed at my eyes. I wanted a nap. “I checked on Adam and Bobby. Everyone’s used all the medicine and supplies needed to get them better. We’re out of Kleenex, Vick’s, ibuprofen, _food_. I don’t think they’ve been really eating for a couple days, so gotta get food, too.”

I studied Dean as he digested my words. I knew that no matter how shitty he felt, he wasn’t going go let me go alone, so I’m sure he was singing the _don’t wanna go_ but _got no choice_ song in his head, too. Sitting up, I patted him on the arm, figuring I’d try and make him take it easy. “You should stay here. Get some rest before this virus nails you even more.”

Like I said. I figured I’d try. I mean, he was sitting there with faint pink splotches on his cheeks, telling me that a fever was budding. He still had an arm wrapped around his middle, telling me that his chest was hurting. He looked tired. He looked upset. He looked like I just suggested he sell the Impala and start driving a Pinto.

Sighing, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t you drive?”

**xxxxx**

We went to one of those giant sized Wal-Marts that sell food as well as supplies. It was packed, which was incredibly annoying, but it was the most convenient place to go. While Dean drove, I made a rough list of things we needed, since he decided we should split up to minimize the amount of time we have to be there.

He chose a spot a fair distance away from the mob of cars already littering the parking lot. At the door, we checked our lists, nodded, and took off. I sent Dean to get the various medicines and supplies, while I handled the food. I had a fair idea of what I wanted to get, and it was easier for Dean to maneuver first aid and Nyquil than ingredients for soup and stews.

Thank God I made a list. It made the whole trip so much more efficient. I maneuvered my way through the throngs of chatty customers and broken-wheeled shopping carts, tossing items from my list into my cart. Eventually, I made my way to the pharmacy aisles. I was almost there, when a vaguely familiar voice stopped me.

“Kate?”

I pulled my cart over and looked around, spotting a pretty brunette in a police uniform walking towards me, waving enthusiastically. 

The guys introduced us after the mess with Charles. Bobby asked for her help accessing some surveillance cameras and databases. I sensed she had a thing for Dad, but our impromptu chit-chat was while Dad and I were running an errand, so I didn’t see them together very long.

What the fuck was her name? Jamie? Judy?

I read her tag as she got close. _Mills…_

I took the easy way out. "Sheriff Mills...hi!" 

"It's Jody, remember? No need to be formal." She smiled brightly, casually shifting her weight to one leg. She eyed my cart and raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of comfort food,” she commented.

“Ha, yeah. You have no idea. Sam brought home the flu, and infected everyone.” I leaned against my cart, waving at the food piled inside. “Dean and I were out on a hunt and came home to depleted supplies and four sick family members.” 

Jody let out a low whistle. “That’s awful!” She fell silent, and kinda bit the corner of her lip. “So...is your dad sick, too?” She asked in a slightly softer tone.

Well, well, well.

Nodding, I answered, “Yeah, everyone’s got it. Dad ran himself in the ground taking care of Sam while we were gone.” I watched her reaction carefully...and wasn’t disappointed. She had a lot running through her mind - maternal instincts wanting to take care of the sick along with being a woman wanting to ‘be there’ for the man she had a crush on.

Bobby was vague about what happened to her husband and son. All I know is they died, it was Supernatural related, and Bobby helped her out. She’d been on her own for a couple years, now, and I guess Dad struck her fancy.

Surprising we haven’t crossed paths before.

She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and shifted her weight again. “So...you need any help...or anything?”

I was tempted. But honestly, I wasn’t sure if this virus was related to Sam’s curse, and I was pretty sure Dad wouldn’t want her seeing him while he was nasty and gross. So I shook my head and gestured at the medicine section. “Nah...we’re okay. Dean’s here with me.”

“Oh...he didn’t get it?”

“No...I mean, yeah, he did. Hasn’t hit him fully yet, but it’s on its way.” I looked around. “He should be around here somewhere, actually...I sent him to get more medicine and first aid stuff.”

Jody looked around as well. “Isn’t that him? Over there?” She pointed an aisle over, where I could barely make out the top of Dean’s head. 

“Yeah…” I abandoned my cart and walk-limped over to him. I stopped at the end of the aisle, staring at my brother.

Dean was squinting at a box of medicine, as if the label was written in a foreign language. An arm was once again, wrapped across his middle. He coughed while keeping his lips pressed together, and I could see small beads of sweat on his brow.

I was reminded of Little Dean at Wal-Mart months ago, how he lost all steam in an aisle just like this, forcing me to carry him out of the store. Big Dean didn’t look much different right now. There was just no way I could carry him.

Sensing my presence, Dean looked up, his eyes taking a few seconds longer than they should have to register my identity. I slowly walked over and placed a hand on the back of his neck. He was quite a bit warmer than when we left the house, and he was shivering.

_Katie...I’m done…_

He sighed, starting to wilt a little, until he looked over my shoulder. Instantly, his needs and his wants were bottled up. His posture straightened and a smile was forced onto his face. “Jody...how are you?”

Glancing behind me, I saw Jody amble towards us. She let out a quick sardonic laugh. “A lot better than you, Dean. It’s great to see you. Kate tells me you guys are a little under the weather?”

Dean scoffed, “Eh...just some stupid cold that won’t go away. We’re fine, really.” Apparently he didn’t know his voice dropped an octave.

He turned, thrusting the box of medicine at me. “I can’t figure out which one to get. Pick one so we can go home.” His tone was gruff and business-like, but I sensed underlying fatigue and knew he felt like crap.

Glancing in his cart, my eyes widened at the amount of supplies he’d gathered, including stuff for my leg. 

Nice.

Jody reached past us and pulled a box off the shelf. “I recommend this one. Covers a lot, won’t turn your shit pink, and doesn’t cost a ton.” She wiggled the box at me. “Plus it comes in cherry.”

_That_ got Dean’s attention. I chuckled while he snatched back the box I held in exchange for a few of the one Jody recommended.

“Thanks, Jody,” I said. 

“Oh, no problem! Glad to help.”

Then it fell silent for a few beats. Dean muffled a sneeze into the crook of his arm, barely controlling the hiss of pain afterwards. Instinctively, I reached out to steady him, only to pull back when I remembered we had an audience. I smoothly pretended to dust off his shoulder instead.

I liked Jody a lot - I really did. I also thought it’d be a blast for her and Dad to hook up, even though I found it hard to picture Dad engaging in a relationship considering his whole life centered around revenge for Mary. But right now, I needed to - 

“Well! I know you guys need to get this stuff home. Call if you need anything, okay?” 

Grateful for the exit, I smiled at her. “We will. Thanks again!” Dean smiled and nodded at her, the _Everything’s Fine_ routine fading fast. Oh hey - he even waved a little. Such a champ.

As soon as she was out of sight, Dean sagged against his cart. “Let’s get outta here,” he pleaded.

**xxxxx**

I drove us home. My miserable brother curled in on himself for the duration of the ride, trying to contain a coughing fit that would not end. I reached over more than a couple times to either pull him against me or rub the back of his neck, but every effort was met with a dismissive hand flap or a headshake.

I guess he’s not ready for the comfort part.

I, however, was _totally_ ready for the comfort part. My leg was _throbbing._

Just as we finished unloading all the bags, his phone rang. Dean glared at me as he fished it out of his front pocket. “You and Sam are dead once he’s back to normal,” he muttered, cutting off Barry Manilow announcing that her name was Lola. 

Grinning, I started to unload the bags. I was right - it was totally funnier when you’re awake. And it was more hilarious that he hadn’t thought to change it.

“Yeah?” He was poking through the various bags, frowning. “Oh...hey, Jody.”

I swiveled and watched him. Jody? Why was she calling?

Dean continued to rummage through the bags, nodding and _mm-hmm-ing_ into the phone. Finally, he sighed, the handle of one plastic bag being twisted around a finger. “Yeah, tomorrow’s fine...Sure...thanks...yeah...see you then.” He tucked the phone back inside his pocket and sighed again.

“What’s going on” I asked, dumping chicken into Bobby’s oversized slow roaster. I decided that my boys needed something bland but with a hint of protein, so slow-cooker chicken soup it was. Besides, it meant I could cook and rest at the same time. I like that kind of multi-tasking.

Dean scrubbed at his nose and sniffed. “Apparently, we left a couple bags behind. She’ll...she’ll bring them by tomorrow.” He rubbed his nose again, then gave up and sneezed. “ _Fucking fuck fuck…_ ” He clutched his chest with a grimace.

I shrugged, unwrapping more chicken. “Bless you. We have what we need for tonight. No big deal.”

I pulled the faucet spout over the the roaster and started filling it with water. When I got no response, I looked over my shoulder at Dean, who was staring at the grocery bags like he started the Apocalypse or something. “Hey...why do you look like someone kicked a baby seal?” 

Dean slumped into a chair, pointedly not looking at me. “One of the bags had the supplies I needed for your leg. _Goddammit_ , I shoulda checked more carefully. Those fucking bag-go-round things...I didn’t… _Fuck,_ I’m sorry…”

I waved him off. “It’s fine, Dean. It’ll wait til morning.”

Dean said nothing. He just kept twisting that plastic bag handle around his finger over and over again, guilt and self-loathing all over his face. It went well with the fever spots and glassy-eyes.

Feverish Dean + Guilty Dean = Emo Dean channeling Sam.

I washed my hands and turned the roaster on low. “Dean…,” I warned, approaching him with one hand out to feel his forehead, whether he liked it or not. And I was pretty sure he was a _not,_ because he was already stiffening in his seat, the stoic act preparing to dazzle me with how much he didn’t need to be taken care of.

Just then, Adam wandered in, hugging that Kleenex box to his chest like it was a treasure. “You’re back…,” he sighed. He came straight over, unknowingly cutting me off from Dean, and dropped his head onto my shoulder. “Didya get stuff?” He mumbled into my shirt, and I could feel the heat of his fever.

I squeezed him and pressed a quick kiss to his head. “We sure did - bought out the store. C’mon - let’s get you a decongestant, okay?”

Adam nodded as he stood up, which quickly prompted coughing, which morphed into sneezing on his sweatshirt.

Laughing (but with sympathy - I’m not _that_ mean), I mussed up his hair, wincing as the sweaty locks left a nice film on my just-cleaned hands. “Jesus, you’re a mess. Sit down.”

It was nice having a brother who didn’t protest caretaking. In fact, Adam was practically begging for it. I wasn’t able to get near Sammy - Dad and Dean had that covered, and honestly, I think Sammy, himself, wasn’t that thrilled with me. Even though Dean is _mine,_ to use Sammy’s words from a few days ago, it was always a fight to remind him of that. 

Speaking of which, I glanced over at him, remembering that I needed to check his fever.

I caught him wiping a hand down his face like a human etch-o-sketch, trying to erase his needs. He gave Adam a weird look, then peeked over his shoulder into the living room, where Sammy and Dad were probably resting.

While I handed Adam a fresh Kleenex box (no one should look that happy for Kleenex...seriously), Dean swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. I pursed my lips together, formulating a plan of attack. “Hey...let’s get you some - “

Dean shook his head, interrupting, “Gonna check on Sammy then head upstairs.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Hold on a sec. Let me - “

_Ohhhhhh fuck him_ \- he flapped his hand dismissively at me and pulled himself to his feet, wincing as his ribs jostled. “I’ll check on you later - “ He sneezed roughly into a hastily grabbed Kleenex, pausing to nod at Adam, whose face was buried in fresh Kleenex. “Take care of him,” he ordered in a soft voice.

First off, like I needed to be told that.

Second, it ignored that _he_ needed to be taken care of as well. Big surprise, there.

But it was the unspoken rest of that sentence was deafening: Take care of him… _instead of me._

I was about to launch into this huge scolding when Adam sneezed so hard he actually whimpered afterwards. I took my eyes off Dean for _one fucking second_ to make sure Adam was still in one piece, and that’s when he escaped.

_We’re not done!_ I telepathed at his back. 

“Ugh…” Adam swallowed carefully, and blinked, looking up at me with these big, doe eyes. 

Fuck every single one of my brothers for having eyes like that.

I sighed. “I know...just...here.” I grabbed the Nyquil and tore into the box. Carefully, I measured a healthy dose into the small cup. Adam squirmed in his chair, clearly unhappy about drinking it. “I know it tastes like crap. Drink it down anyway.”

Sighing, he flattened his lips and huffed. Well, he tried to huff, but his nose was so blocked it just sort of burbled. Not attractive.

Satisfied that he swallowed it all, I tugged on his sleeve. “Okay, kiddo, back to bed.”

He turned his Eyes on me again, and I knew exactly what he wanted. Shaking my head, I pushed him towards the stairs. “I need to finish making some food, check on Bobby, and beat up Dean. I’ll sit with you in a bit.” I tossed a bunch of supplies in a bag and handed it over, hoping he’d get some sleep and let the medicine work some mojo.

Adam blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. He took the bag with a pout look before shuffling up the stairs. The fact that he barely said a word was a good indicator of how shitty he felt. I fought back a wave of guilt and turned back to the kitchen.

After making sure the slow cooker was all set and anything refrigerated was put away, I took the stomach meds and limped upstairs to see how Bobby was faring. I knocked softly and pushed my way inside. Thankfully, the smell was pretty much gone, and the soft snoring coming from under the worn comforter told me he was actually resting. 

I carefully checked his forehead, and it was barely warm. More good news. Gently, I kissed his brow (I couldn’t help it) and left the medicine on his bedside table.

Back in the hall, I noticed Dean’s door slightly ajar. _What the hell…_

I pushed it open and found my brother curled into a ball on his bed, his back to the door. “Dean?” I softly called.

No answer - no movement.

I sighed and leaned against the doorframe, wondering what to do. I knew he wasn’t asleep, and I knew what he needed. But right now, he wasn’t receptive to assistance of any kind. I just wasn’t sure why. I swore he was ready to be taken care of when we were at the store. What changed his mind?

I sighed again, deciding not to push the issue. If he didn’t want to be coddled, then I won’t coddle. So I closed the door and went back downstairs to check on Dad.

By this point, my leg was on fire, and I was even more incredibly tired. A quick tucking-in was all I had left in me. 

The only light in the room came from a lamp, perched on a small table in the corner of the room. It took a few seconds and a little blinking to become accustomed to the dim lighting, but once I did, I knew I needed a camera.

Dad was on the couch, brow furrowed and sweaty, his breathing labored even though it was through his mouth. Sammy was sprawled on top of him, face flushed and his mouth open, drooling onto Dad’s shirt. Bobby’s faded orange and brown afghan half covered them both, its ends on the floor, shifting gently when Dad’s leg twitched.

After snapping a few shots ( _totally_ for posterity, _definitely_ not blackmail), I quietly went over, picking up the trailing end of the afghan and tucking them in. I dragged over an ottoman, and sat heavily on it. I brushed Sammy’s hair off his forehead, and reached over to do the same for Dad. He sniffled, smacked his lips, and groggily opened his eyes.

“Well, hi there…” I started, chuckling at the obvious confusion on his face. The chuckling stopped, however, when I felt his skin. _Holy fuck_ \- he was burning up.

Dad licked his lips, and glanced down at his sleeping son. Grunting a little, he shifted, prompting Sammy to lift his head off Dad’s chest, yawning. 

“Daddy…” He croaked in this tiny, pitiful voice.

Dad smoothed the hair on Sammy’s head, _shhh-ing_ him. “S’okay, Sammy...go back to sleep.”

Nodding, Sammy yawned again, and lay back down. 

Dad’s eyes swiveled back to me. “Hey…”

“Hey, yourself. You’re burning up - I need you to take some Advil, okay?” I brushed his forehead again, watching him shiver at the touch.

He nodded slowly, still half-asleep.

I started to stand when I felt Dad’s hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me back down.

“Hmmm?” I asked gently, running my thumb along his hand.

He licked his lips again, and I made a mental note to bring an extra glass of water. “I...um...I think...I think I have a fever.” He rubbed his forehead and frowned, as if trying to figure out what was going on. “I think maybe Sammy has one, too?”

“I know - I’ll bring you both some medicine, okay?”

Dad squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Mary. I just...I think...maybe Sammy shouldn’t be here? I don’t...I don’t want to get him sick.” He frowned even harder. “Sicker?”

I blinked at him, not quite sure how to respond. It always took me a minute when he thought I was Mary. He glanced down at Sammy, shifting again. “Would you take ‘im?”

“Sure… _John_...I’ll get him. You just...stay here, okay? I’ll bring Sammy to Dean and then get you the med-”

“Nooooo...s’posed to take Dean to the car show t’morrow. Don’t put ‘em t’gether. Don’ want Dean sick, too.” He coughed miserably as I reached down and carefully picked up Sammy.

Both sucked in a sharp breath as their combined body warmth was abruptly replaced by what probably felt like ice cold air. Dad shivered violently, curling into a ball under the afghan. Sammy whimpered in his sleep, wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my neck. “It’ll be okay,” I whispered. “Let me put him in bed and I’ll be right back.”

Dad nodded and fell back asleep.

I took two steps before Sammy realized what was going on. He lifted his warm head and shot me a look filled with confusion and a touch of pissed off. “Where’s Daddy? I want my Daddy…” A fat tear rolled down one bright pink cheek and his lower lip shook.

“Daddy’s sick, Sammy. I’m gonna take you to Dean, okay? You can snuggle with him tonight.” I again pushed sweaty hair off his forehead, and kissed his forehead.

Sammy’s eyes widened in shock at the gesture. I realized he’d probably never been kissed by a woman before.

Then I realized the fucked up-ness of that sentence.

Sighing, I hauled him to the stairs. Just as I gripped the railing, I heard, “What’s wrong? Is Sammy okay?”, followed by a fit of coughing, and punctuated with a painful sounding sneeze. 

This house was a fucking red hot mess.

Looking up, all I could see was the shaking silhouette of Dean slowly walking down the stairs, holding on to the railing as if his life depended on it. If he fell, it wasn’t _his_ life I was worried about.

I blew my own hair off my forehead and leaned against the wall for support. “Dad’s fever is spiking - I gotta get it lowered. Would you take Sam for a bit?”

Sammy glared at me for a second. “It’s _Sammy_.” I would’ve laughed at that if I had the energy.

By the time he got to the bottom, Dean’s face was pale and pinched. He was rubbing his chest and grimacing. “Yeah...c’mere, buddy.”

Sammy immediately held out his arms and leaned towards Dean, almost throwing me off balance. Once snuggled in Dean’s arms, I got a face full of self-satisfied, shit-eating Sammy.

If he were his normal age, I’d have punched him.

I nodded a goodbye and staggered towards the kitchen for the Advil. I don’t know how they made it back upstairs, and I don’t know how bad Dean really was. I just knew that while in Sammy-mode, he’d be fine.

After grabbing an armful of supplies, I went back to Dad. As soon as I sat, he turned towards me, that frown still on his face.

“Hey...you okay? Did you hurt your back again lifting him?” He tried to prop himself up on an elbow, maybe thinking he would check me over.

I shook my head and smiled at him a little. I _love_ Sentimental Dad. “Nah, just tired.” I waggled the thermometer at him. “Open up and give me a number, okay?”

Compliant, Dad nodded, opened his mouth and lay back on the pillow, watching me as I got his pills ready. “Did you put them together?” He mumbled around the thermometer.

I paused for a second. “Nope. Sam’s in...our room. Dean’s in his own bed.”

Dad grunted and closed his eyes. “Liar.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

He cracked one eye open and shook a finger at me. “I don’ wan -”

I shoved his hand aside and shushed him by pressing my own finger against his lips. “Let me get a temp on you. Then feel free to bitch me out.” 

Dad huffed and rolled his eyes, sullenly staring at the ceiling. How long would this fever keep fucking with his brain? I always felt guilty pretending to be Mary. But...it kept him calm, and I prefer a calm/feverish John Winchester to an agitated/feverish John Winchester. 

That little beep was like the herald from an angel. I stared at the display, not believing the reading.

One hundred four.

“Well, no car show for you...open up and take these.”

I held out the pills, feeling a tiny bit anxious about cooling him down. But anxiety and worry were soon somewhat replaced by irritation and amusement.

“ _Maaaaaaaaaaare…_ I promised Dean weeks ago. I hafta take him,” he whined. _Oh my God,_ he even stomped his leg against the couch. “I’ll be fine by morning...jus’ gimme the pills.” Dad fumbled for the medicine and glass of water, sloppily getting them down. Then he huffed again, and crossed his arms.

Too tired for this, I decided not to engage. I quietly took the glass and set it on the table. I rearranged the blanket so it covered him enough to help with his shivering, but not enough to really hold in his body warmth. I rubbed his arm.

Little by little, Dad relaxed. The jaw unclenched. The arms uncrossed. The face smoothed. The lips sighed.

He opened one eye and peeked at me. I chuckled. “How about we see how you’re feeling in the morning, huh?”

He opened the other and continued to stare, demonstrating the genetic link to Sam Winchester’s Eyes.

I rolled mine and ran the back of my fingers across his forehead. I tried reason instead, which I knew was a tad foolish given this entire situation. “You can’t help being sick. Dean’ll understand. Besides, he was coughing tonight. I bet he’s already caught what you and Sammy have, so he couldn’t go anyway. Let’s just get you all better, then we’ll...we’ll take a vacation and go to a car show together. Anywhere you want to go. How about that, hmm?”

I would’ve said anything at that point to settle Dad down and help him sleep off this fever. Usually, a line or two like that does the trick, encouraging him to roll over and pass the fuck out. 

Figures that this time it’d be more complicated.

He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, staring at it thoughtfully. “What would I do without you?” He asked, brokenly. “You take care of all of us. I’d...I’d be _so lost_ without you.” He broke off to cough against his shoulder. “I love you so much.” He stared into my eyes, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. “It’s just… _better_ with you here.”

Now let’s be clear. I know he’s delirious and isn’t telling me that he wishes Mary were here instead of me. I don’t overly read into these moments, and I don’t (completely) take them personally. I get it - I do. 

But sometimes...like when I’m tired and hurt and worn out and frazzled with worry...it hits me in the gut. And I wish with everything inside, that I could give him what he wants - that pocket from his past when everything was golden.

No matter how much he loves me, and I know he does, I’m not his wife. And I’m not a replacement for her.

I bit my lower lip, and swallowed down some tears. I was struggling with how to respond, when he wagged his eyebrows at me. “When I get over this...I’ll _show_ you how better it is with you here…” Then he leered at me, trying to look alluring despite the fever splotches, the tears, the matted hair, and snot covered shirt.

Aaaaaaaaand we’re done with the role playing.

Awkwardly, I patted him on the chest, quickly wiping my eyes. “Ooooo-kay Casanova..way to change the mood. Get some sleep, and we’ll...deal with this in the morning, ‘kay?”

Dad chuckle-sneezed and rolled over, muttering something about _you just wait,_ and I was all, _yeeeeeeahhhhh, we’ll just wait._

_Nooooo_ problem with the waiting.

**xxxxx**

I spent the night downstairs in a chair, checking Dad every hour, applying wet cloths to his face and neck, until the fever settled down. I barely slept, and somehow managed to change my bandages and finish the soup. 

Just as the sun was starting to rise, I decided it was okay to lay in my own bed for a few hours without worry that Dad’s brain would boil from his own temperature. A quick check in Dean’s room revealed both boys passed out on his bed, breathing in tandem, even if through their mouths.

I hobbled to my room and hummed in anticipation of crawling in my bed and stretching out…

...next to my baby brother who decided to squat in my room.

Ehhh….sleep is overrated.

I set my jaw and felt his forehead - still warm. Like he said, a low grade fever he couldn’t shake off. Adam opened his eyes and watched me check him over, his congestion prompting coughing and a need for Kleenex. 

On the nightstand sat an unopened box of menthol rub, just sitting there. The corners were a little peeled back, but it was definitely mint in the box. Adam followed my gaze and his cheeks turned red. _Redder_. “Couldn’t open it…” was all he mumbled.

I raised my eyebrows and peeled apart the paper box. “Couldn’t ask for help?”

He burrowed into his - _my_ \- blanket. “You w’r busy…” 

Sighing, I cupped his chin and forced him to look at me. “Never too busy. Just can’t always do five things at once.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Slacker.” Then he sneezed twice, curling in on himself from the force.

I gestured for him to lift his shirt and then slathered the fragrant goop all across his chest and neck. Immediately, his breathing eased, and he closed his eyes, sighing with relief, like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Satisfied that I’d appropriately painted my brother, I wiped my hands on a towel I found in the corner and slid into bed. A small sigh of relief escaped my lips when I was able to take weight off my leg and stretch it out. 

As soon as I closed my eyes, Adam pushed close, using me as a pillow. He coughed a little, his breath scattering the ends of my hair across my shoulder.

I gently cuffed him. “Cover your mouth,” I ordered.

The fucker turned his head and coughed directly onto my shirt.

**xxxxx**

Later that morning, I woke to the pitter-patter of feet racing down the hallway, followed by, “Daddy, daddy! Dean just blew the most hugest bubble out of his nose! It was awesome!”

The footsteps and accompanying laughter faded downstairs. 

Adam was a warm lump, uncomfortably sticking to my side. I carefully shoved him off, watching him curl away from me and snuggle with the blanket.

I wasn’t ready to get up, but if Sammy was awake, Dean and Dad would be awake. So I stretched and grudgingly got out of bed.

As I put on a fresh shirt, soft footsteps sounded outside my door. They paused briefly, then continued down the hall, presumably to the bathroom. The shower started up, confirming their final location. I peeked outside, and saw Dean’s door was wide open. Well, a shower would do him good.

A shower would do _me_ good, but I wanted to get downstairs.

Dad and Sammy were in the kitchen, helping themselves to the soup still cooling in the crock pot.

“Hey...this looks great,” Dad called over his shoulder. I went to his side and felt his forehead. Still really warm, but not the insane heat from last night.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked, worry in my voice. 

Sammy was practically bouncing next to him, holding out a bowl.

Dad glanced at me and shrugged. “I still feel like crap, but I think I’m on the mend. I’m not really sure what happened last night...I...um...I remember laying on the couch with Sammy, and then…” One more quick glance, then he returned to ladeling soup in a bowl.

I leaned against the counter and rubbed my eyes. “Not much happened. You spiked an impressive fever, and it took a while to get it down.” I watched Sammy scuttle to the table, trying not to spill his food all over the floor. After grabbing a spoon out of the drawer, I walked it over to him, quickly checking his temperature with a casual swipe across his forehead as he shoved his spoon into the bowl.

He brushed me off with a huff. “Dean said I’m okay.”

_Well, la-dee-da._

Rolling my eyes, I returned to Dad who was still at the counter. “What is it?” I asked, noting the frown on his face.

He pulled at his chin and ran his fingers through his hair. “Did I...I mean, last night, I thought…”

I gently nudged him, nodding at the table. “Sit and eat, Dad. Everything’s fine. Okay?”

“But…”

“No buts. Just eat.”

He smiled hesitantly at me. “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

“No problem,” I answered, winking as I pulled out a few more bowls. “I’m gonna see if I can get some of this in Bobby.”

“Bobby’s ready to get some of that in him. He’s starving.” 

We both turned to see Bobby slowly entering the kitchen, using the wall for support. I hurried to his side, helping him wrap an arm around my shoulders. “Sit down - I’ll get you a bowl, okay?”

Bobby grunted, dropping heavily into a chair and eyeing Sammy and John. “How’ve _you_ guys been?”

Sammy slurped in some soup and dragged a hand across his mouth, leaving a wet trail along the back side. “You were so gross when you puked! We’ve been sick, too. I watched Thundercats yesterday and now I’m eating soup like you, see?” He picked up his spoon and went back to slurping.

Bobby blinked at him, then turned to Dad. “I may hate you forever for this.”

Dad snorted and sat between Bobby and Sam. “You’ve always hated me. No news flash there.”

Bobby nodded in agreement, smiling at me as I placed a bowl of soup in front of him.

Sammy frowned at Bobby. “Why do you hate Daddy?”

I choked back a laugh, patted Bobby on the back and went back for another bowl.

Bobby cleared his throat and pointed his spoon at Sammy. “I don’t _hate_ hate him. He just annoys me sometimes.”

Sammy thought about that as he chewed. “So like when he snores?”

Bobby waved his spoon with a flourish. “Exactly.”

Dad rolled his eyes. Sammy’s face scrunched up as he thought about that. “Okay,” he said finally, refocusing on his lunch.

There was a string of coughing at the doorway, and we all turned to see Adam shuffling inside, still clutching a box of Kleenex. Dad quickly swallowed and got up to make room for Adam at the table.

Adam kinda flapped his hand at him. “Sit...I’b godda get a bowl and go back upstairs. I’b gross.”

Dad shook his head as he wiped his mouth on a napkin. “You’re no more gross than the rest of us. You sit. _Now._ ” He pulled out his chair and deftly moved his food to the other side of Sam. He then started to get Adam’s food when _I_ flapped at him to sit. 

“I got it already. Just eat.” I placed a fresh bowl of soup in front of Adam who flashed me a look of gratitude.

Dad sighed. “Kate…” I knew he remembered bits and pieces of last night. He wasn’t drunk, so it’s not like his memory was completely impaired. Although even drunk, Dad’s pretty with it. “You need to - “

“I need to take care of the bacterial mess living in this house, which includes you. That’s all there is to it.” I argued, cutting him off while gently pushing on his shoulder, forcing him to sit down. “Don’t argue with me. Not now.”

I heard Bobby snort into his soup and saw Adam hide a grin as he ate. I also noticed _Sam_ watching, eyes darting between Dad and me like he couldn’t believe someone would talk to Dad like that.

Dad sighed again, ran a hand through his hair and grudgingly picked up his spoon. “We’re getting better,” he mumbled.

I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “I _know_ you are. We just don’t need you running a temp over one-hundred-three anymore. Everyone needs to just take it easy.”

He squeezed my arm and went back to eating.

**xxxxx**

The day was quiet. Well, okay, not really quiet. Hacking, sneezing and blowing were a constant hum throughout the house. It was the worst soundtrack ever.

Once I laid the smack down on Dad, everyone caved, allowing me to take care of them. I kept busy with laundry, food prep, temperature checks, supply distributions, coddling, cuddling, and catering to their every whim.

Everyone, that is, except Dean...who kept to himself upstairs for the most part. I was running around all day long, and it’s not like I didn’t have time for him, because for fuck’s sake, I would reschedule the lunar cycle for him if I could. But he refused everything that was offered, including relaxing with the rest of the family in a central, germ-infested area.

Even Sammy couldn’t bring him down, despite numerous attempts.

Late in the afternoon, it occurred to me that I should probably at least _look_ at my stitches, along with taking a much needed shower. And maybe another change of clothes, since people seem to think it’s okay to use me as Kleenex. I was doing a final check of everyone in the living room before disappearing upstairs for some much needed _me_ time, when the doorbell rang.

Who the hell could _that_ be?

A stern look and a very maternal finger-pointing kept Bobby in his chair as I peeked through the window. It was Jody Mills, carrying a couple plastic bags.

Oh shit - she told Dean she’d stop by today with the missing stuff.

I opened the door, and smiled at her. “Hey, Jody!”

“Kate! Hi!” She held up the bags. “You left these at the store. Thought you might need what was in ‘em.” She grinned that super friendly smile, and I could so easily picture her and Dad together.

My gaze flickered over to Dad on the couch, blowing his nose into a huge wad of Kleenex while nodding at Sammy who was sharing the finer points of Thundercats versus Power Rangers.

I really, really, wanted to escape upstairs for a little bit. I really, really didn’t want to leave them alone. And here’s this perfectly able human who could assist with this predicament.

What the hell...

I opened the door wider and took a chance. “You’re welcome to come inside, but it’s pretty much a bio-hazard in here, along with everyone being disgusting and tired…”

Jody laughed. “Well, with that kind invitation, it’s hard to refuse!” She stepped inside, handing over the bags. I peered inside them, noting the bandages, anti-bacterial cream, and oooh - suture supplies? Fanciest Wal-Mart ever!

“Jody!” I heard Dad’s scratchy voice, followed by coughing, followed by a yelp from Sammy as Dad unceremoniously dumped him on the floor in his haste to stand up. “Shit - sorry, Sammy!” He bent to help Sam to his feet, shooting a glare at Bobby was was giggling as he got up from his chair.

Jody stopped cold. “Sammy?”

Oh shit...probably shoulda prepared her for that.

Dad got this panicked look on his face, as his eyes traveled from Sammy to Jody and back again. He settled his gaze on me, which made me want to crawl into a small hole.

Before I could offer an explanation, Sammy piped up, “I was big and now I’m not!”

Dad froze, a nervous smile on his face. “Um...Sammy…”

Jody got down to Sam’s level and tilted her head to the side. “Wow! That must’ve been weird!”

Sammy shrugged. “I don’t remember bein’ big but Daddy says I’m taller ‘n Dean, which is _really_ tall like huge tall!”

Jody widened her eyes in amazement. “That _is_ really tall!” 

Jody continued the conversation with Sammy, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Dad relaxed a bit, but still shot me a glare as I made my way to Bobby.

Well hey...if Jody’s gonna date Dad, she has to get used to shit like this going down. In my head, that totally justified shocking her and pissing off Dad. Nothing like a little rationalization to get through the day.

In an effort to avoid a confrontation with Dad, I moved past him to Bobby. “What’re _you_ doing?” I demanded.

Bobby grumbled, “Goin’ upstairs. I’m fine, Missy. Go boss around someone else.” He squeezed my hand. _Wanna go lie down._

I blew out a breath in understanding and helped him to the stairs, keenly aware of the quiet conversation taking place behind me between Dad and Jody. I heard Dad apologize and felt his gaze on my back once again, but it cooled off with Jody’s soft, calm tone, assuring him it was all good.

Just as Bobby reached the stairs, Adam came down, frustration on his face. “What’s wrong?” I asked, automatically reaching out to see if his fever spiked.

“I can’t lay downd,” he whined, leaning his head against the wall and giving me his most pathetic look. 

Bobby nudged me. “See? Replacement for me.” He kissed my cheek and started his trek up the stairs.

Adam frowned at him, then back at me. “What does that beand?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. He’s being crotchety. C’mon...sit in Bobby’s chair. It’s about time for more Nyquil anyway. Maybe sitting up will help you get some sleep.”

Adam nodded miserably, following me into the living room. Dad looked up from the couch, relief on his face as he realized someone else would be in the room with him and Jody. “Hey buddy...doing ok?”

Adam shook his head and coughed into the crook of his arm. “Feel like sh-- _Oh_...hey Sheriff…”

Jody chuckled, but her eyes were sympathetic as she watched Adam lower himself into the armchair. “You guys sure know how to get sick.”

“Bobby was throwing up! On the _floor!_ ” Sammy supplied, pulling his eyes off the TV long enough to embarrass Bobby.

“Shaddup, Sammy!” Came the bellow from upstairs.

Sammy just giggled. “He doesn’t want people to know,” he stage whispered, before sneezing messily and turning back to the television.

I got Adam a healthy dose of medicine, guaranteed to knock him out for a few hours, and made sure he drank all of it.

We sat together for about half an hour, me babying Adam (who was getting sleepier by the second), and Jody babying Dad (who was getting redder by the second).

Yes, the sheriff was coddling my father.

It took almost a whole thirty minutes for Dad to relax, and not feel so self-conscious. When Jody held a handful of tissues to Dad’s face as a sneeze took him by surprise, Dad let go of his inhibitions, accepting that he didn’t need to impress her with his manly swagger. He was a fevered blob, barely capable of flirting, and Jody didn’t seem to care.

She was here because he might have needed her. The grocery bags were only secondary.

That must’ve sunk in, too, as Dad allowed himself to be cared for.

They sat together on the couch, with Sammy between them, looking very content. Jody absently ran her fingers through Dad’s hair, while the other arm wrapped around Sammy, who looked about ready for a nap.

With Adam almost asleep, and Dad obviously in good hands, I figured now was the perfect time for a shower.

That’s when I heard someone inhale sharply, followed by an almost strangled sob. My eyes darted around the room, looking for the source, and I finally found it, standing near the stairs. 

It was Dean, gaping at Dad and Jody, practically posing on the couch as the perfect couple, with their young son between them. He clamped his mouth shut, and I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing rapidly up and down as Dean fought to control his emotions. He took a step back, an arm reaching out to help guide his steps towards the stairs. His eyes frantically scanned the room, looking for something. They landed on me, sitting in Bobby’s armchair next to Adam, who was falling asleep against me.

The sight of me with Adam seemed to be the breaking point. My eyes widened as I watched him turn away to retreat back upstairs, wet trails glistening on his cheeks.

I thought no one else saw him enter or leave, which, I suppose, spared him some dignity. Jody and Dad were too immersed in each other, and Adam’s eyes were closed.

But Sam saw it all. His eyes reflected Dean’s sadness, even though he didn’t understand what was going on. Wordlessly, Sam turned and gave me a pleading look.

_Fix him?_

I sighed. _I always do._

Sammy gazed longingly at the now empty hallway before looked back at me. _Thanks._

I quickly smiled in return, suddenly missing the unspoken conversations I had with _my_ Sam so much, that an ache bloomed in my chest, almost making me gasp. Shoving it down, I carefully extracted myself from Adam once again, and went in search of my oldest brother.

Much to my surprise, he wasn’t in his room. Which...okay, that’s weird. Where else would he be? I tapped my finger against the doorframe, thinking. Somewhere behind me, I heard Dean sneeze, followed by a hiccupy sniffle. Turning, I noticed my bedroom door ajar, and I know I shut it earlier.

Why’s he in _my_ room?

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was on the far side of my bed, his back to me, the heel of one hand furiously scrubbing at his eyes. I closed the door behind me, and quietly sat on the opposite side, staring at my hands, wondering how to approach him.

“I’m not mad at him.”

I blinked, thinking I imagined Dean voluntarily opening up. I practically held my breath, afraid that anything I did would push him away.

“I just… _*sniff*_...I dunno what’s going on with me.” He huffed a half-laugh half-sob and cleared his throat. “I don’t remember feeling this insecure the first time around. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure I wasn’t. Sammy was my job, and I just did it.” He paused for a second. “And now, I’m...I’m jealous because he wants to be with Dad? What the fuck is that? Sam wanted to be with Dad back then, too. Before…” _Before Dad chose hunting over his sons._

Dean sighed, long and weary. “I’ve always… _always_...wanted Sam to have that life...that… _normal_ life. I...I had it for four years. He has no clue what that was like. _I_ barely have a clue...it’s just this wisp of a memory...like the imprint of a feeling. But I miss it.”

Imprint of a feeling? I mentally tipped my hat to the feverish wordsmith.

“Maybe...maybe it’s...this fever? I don’t know. But, fuck...seeing him sitting there...with Jody and Dad...I just…”

Oh, shit. I quietly sucked in a breath, realizing the extent of Dean’s agony. Feeling jealous over something he doesn’t think he has the right to feel jealous over. The urge to _just hold him_ was killing me, but I didn’t. Instead, I crossed my arms and bit my lip, not wanting to interrupt - 

Then he hit my shoulder, almost sending me off the bed.

“You know what? I’m having a _fucking moment_ over here. Could you maybe, I dunno, fucking hug me or some shit?”

I spun around, taking in Dean’s flushed face and neck, streaks of tears down his cheeks, and pure anguish in his eyes.

I blew out a breath, scooted onto the bed, and gestured with my head. _C’mere already._ I was rewarded with an armful of Dean, face buried in my neck, hand twisting the edge of my shirt, legs wrapped over mine. Holding him close, I kept my cheek against his hair, running a hand along his back.

Dean held on tight, his breathing carefully measured, as he tried to control the sobbing that begged for release. That admission was rough - and the emotions it stirred were definitely wreaking havoc on him. But that wasn’t all of it. I could still feel a tension in him that he wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet.

Luckily I was patient.

I gave him a few minutes, letting him dry his eyes and settle down. Calmly, I brushed my cheek back and forth against his head. 

_What else is bothering you?_

He squeezed harder, ducking his head even more.

_Hey…_

He let out a shaky sigh and muttered in a very small voice, “I wanna be someone’s.”

At first, I dismissed it. I mean, come on, he’s already someone’s. _He’s mine._ Wasn’t that good enough anymore? But then it hit me.

He wasn’t just battling jealousy over Sam. He was battling jealousy over Adam, too.

_Goddammit._

I must have done something - shifted on the bed or whatever - signalling to Dean that I figured out what he meant. He tried to pull away and curl into a small ball from embarrassment. This whole fucking thing was not typical Dean Winchester behavior, and he knew it. But for whatever reason - he couldn’t stop himself.

“Hold on… _hey_...stop that,” I admonished, forcing him still and pushing at his chin until his eyes met mine. I searched his face for any sign of teasing or anger, wanting to be sure of what I was dealing with. All I found was this sheer sense of pain that sat heavy in my gut.

As a group, we’ve never spelled out the rules we live by - they’re just sort of there. We know explicitly who takes care of who, despite the numerous crossovers and blurred lines. Sam and I talk about it all the time, because that’s what we do. But Dean? Please - he’d rather cut off his arm than discuss this.

But right now, I need to do just that.

“Dean… _c’mon_ …” I briefly closed my eyes, willing myself to say the right things. “You _know_ you’re mine. You’ve been mine since _forever_. That’s not gonna change. Please…” My voice broke. “We’re in the middle of a cursed contagion, here. Just because I’m needed in multiple places, doesn’t mean anything’s different.”

More tears streamed down his face, faster than I was wiping them away. I touched my forehead to his and murmured, “You’re _mine_ , Dean, and that’s that.”

A tiny noise sounded in his throat, as the last of that tension flowed out of him. He melted against me and sighed.

**xxxxx**

Things were easier the next few days. Everyone was slowly recuperating and no one was dwelling on emotional needs from years past. Once Dean admitted what was on his mind, I started putting pieces together. If the curse originated from Dad and Sam’s nostalgia for the good ol’ days, it made sense that the curse aura affected anyone else they came in contact with. 

It explained everyone’s overly fragile emotional state: Bobby and Karen, Adam and his mom, Dad and Mary, and Dean and me, Sam and Dad. (He always has to outshine everyone else.)

I kinda ran the theory past them, but no one really wanted to discuss it in-depth. I suppose they were too embarrassed, preferring instead to focus on elevated temperatures encouraging goofy behavior. Dean just muttered about wanting a normal curse rather than one that made him use unnatural amounts of Kleenex.

Whatever.

If Sam were here, he’d muddle through it with me, and go over everyone’s reactions, trying to pinpoint all the specifics.

But he’s not here. At least not _my_ Sam.

So I spent my time doing what I’d been doing anyway, cooking, cleaning up, waiting on people. At least the waiting-on-people part was getting easier since they were able to do more on their own. Dean stopped hiding, deciding that it was okay to be mine publicly. Not having that extra stash of worry over what he was doing made things a lot easier.

Sammy recovered the fastest, naturally, and was back to running around non-stop. We were still a little hesitant around each other, keeping our distance and letting Dean or Dad be the middle-men in any exchange that needed to take place. It wasn’t conscious - it just sorta happened.

One night, while I was supposed to be figuring out how to triple a recipe, I was instead thinking over this new Sam-Kate relationship. We all thought the curse would end, but there’s always that chance that it won’t, and we’ll be raising Sam all over again. I let my mind wander down that option’s path, trying to see where it would lead. 

I had some resentment towards Sammy - he didn’t feel like my brother. I have no memories of Sam like this, and worse yet, he wasn’t my big brother or my best friend. That person would be lost to me forever. This person wouldn’t grow up to be the man I missed, and I was mourning that possibility.

On Sam’s side, he wasn’t used to having another option around. It was always Dean and Dad. No one else invaded that space.

Until now.

Sam’s whole world had shifted, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked that.

Can’t blame him.

I yawned and ran a hand along my leg. It hadn’t bothered me for the last few days, but today it was starting to throb again. I chalked it up to a headache I’ve had for a couple hours and figured I should just go lie down for a bit after I got this stew started.

I got everything out of the fridge and was about to open a package of meat when I heard the tiniest sniffle behind me.

I turned to find Sammy in the middle of the kitchen, hands wrapped in his t-shirt, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His lower lip stuck out and his nose was running.

I looked past him into the living room, then back again. “Hiya...what’s up?”

He gave me a miserable shrug, eyes on the floor. His toes were curling and uncurling, while his hands nervously mangled the bottom of his shirt.

Well, _some_ thing was up. “Where’s Dad and Dean?” It wasn’t that I wanted to pawn him off...he just never wanted to be with me.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Sleepin’...”

I nodded slowly and took a step closer. He didn’t back off, so I took a couple more. “Do you...want me to wake them?”

He shook his head _no_ , and looked up at me. “They’re tired. I make them tired.” Cue the Sam Eyes.

Fucking Christ - those things kill me.

I stopped in front of him, and we watched each other for a few seconds. He blinked at me, a haunted look on his face. “I lost something,” he whispered.

I crouched, wincing as my stitches pulled. “What’d you lose, sweetie?”

Another helpless shrug, and _aw fuck_ , tears. “Don’...don’t know...just...gone…” On instinct, I reached out, pulling him close. He snaked his arms around my neck and squeezed. I wrapped my arms around his shuddering body, doing my best to soothe him. 

Frowning, I brushed a hand across his forehead. “Oh, baby, your fever’s back. C’mon...let’s get you some Tylenol, then we’ll figure out what you lost, okay?”

He nodded into my neck, holding tight as I slowly stood up. I shifted him easily onto my hip and went to the kitchen medicine cabinet. The abundance of over-the-counter drugs had dwindled down to less than half a bottle of Advil and one dose of Children’s Tylenol. Time for another trip to the store.

I carefully set Sammy on the counter and brushed some hair off his forehead. Kleenex boxes were strategically placed all over the house, so one was within easy reach. I pulled a couple, dried his eyes and wiped his nose. Sammy didn’t say a word. He just watched me work with a very serious expression on his face.

“Well, looks like there’s just enough medicine for tonight. I’ll get you some more tomorrow.” Nodding solemnly, Sammy watched me pour the red liquid into the tiny cup. “Here you go…” He downed it without a fight, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he handed back the now empty cup.

I ruffled his hair and handed him a fresh Kleenex in hopes of avoiding my hair or clothing becoming makeshift tissues. I tried again. “Okay...so tell me what you lost.”

Sammy sighed and shrugged again. “I dunno. It’s just gone.”

Well, that cleared that up.

I took a deep breath and undid my ponytail, letting my hair fall across my shoulders and down my back. “Alright...well, it’s late, and I know you don’t feel well. Do you think finding it can wait until tomorrow?”

Sammy’s face fell even more, but luckily he was capable of reason. “Yeah, okay.”

I cupped his chin in my hand and smiled at him. “Hey...I have something upstairs that may make you feel better. Wanna go see it?”

He tilted his head to the side, and I could see the gears turning just as the tears slowed. “‘Kay…”

I shoved everything back into the fridge, lifted him again and together we made our way upstairs. Once in my room, I gently placed him on my bed, and retrieved my old stuffed bear from the closet.

Sammy’s eyes widened when he saw it.

I sat next to him and held out Bear. He examined it closely.

“This is Bear. I got him when I was about your age. He’s very special to me, and when I’m feeling lost or scared, Bear helps me feel better.”

“Like a big brother?”

“ _Exactly_ like a big brother. But sometimes...sometimes big brothers aren’t around. So you need a little extra help.” I poked Sammy’s nose, smiling when he giggled. “You can hold onto him until you feel better.”

He raised both eyebrows at that. “Really?”

I brushed that floppy hair out of his face again. “Really, really.” _Anything for you._

He hugged the bear tight and yawned. Which made me yawn. We both giggled. “Okay, kiddo, how about you get some sleep, hmm? We don’t want that fever getting any worse.”

Nodding in agreement, Sammy scooched over and laid down on my pillow. I blinked at him. I hadn’t expected him to want to sleep _here_ , but...okay…

I crawled next to him, making sure he was tucked in before shutting off the light. He surprised me by snuggling close, Bear nestled between us. I ran my fingers through his hair and heard him sigh sleepily.

The moon was bright tonight, lighting up the room and casting shadows on the wall. I saw Sammy slide his arm across me, then reach up to play with my hair. I held my breath as he dragged the ends through his fingers, over and over again.

Just like my Sam.

A few tears escaped and slid down my cheek.

In an almost-whisper, Sammy asked, “Whose are you?”

I knew exactly what he meant. And I’m pretty sure he knew the answer. “Yours,” I said, kissing his forehead.

He propped himself up and looked me right in the eye. “You miss him, huh?”

I didn’t want to have a deep conversation with him over this. “How can I miss him? He’s you. And you’re right here.”

Sammy cinched his mouth to the side and tried again. “No, the other me.”

I chuckled. “I know what you mean. But what I’m saying, is that you’re still him, and I’ll love you no matter how tall you are.” The truth of that hit me right then, and the resentment from earlier melted away the more I looked into those fucking eyes.

He considered that, his face all scrunched up. “If you’re mine, then I hafta take care of you. That’s the rules.” He wiped the tears from my face with gentle strokes.

“You do. No worries on that. Now get some sleep. We have a lot of looking around to do tomorrow.”

Sammy nodded, settling back against me. I hummed an old Metallica song Dean used to sing to us when we were little, cranky children needing to go to sleep. When I felt a warm forehead and cold nose against my neck, I figured it was working. 

**xxxxx**

There was this slight pull on my leg...not enough to actually hurt, but enough to wake me up.

Someone was coughing, followed by a muffled sneeze and a whispered curse.

“Bless you,” I yawned, stretching. 

“Fuck - don’t move! I just fixed your stitches and cleaned out the infection!” 

I snorted. “What infection? They’re fine. I - “

I stopped cold...processing what I just heard. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dad. It wasn’t Bobby or Adam.

I peeled open one eye and looked, almost afraid to hope. Sam… _my Sam_...was sitting on the edge of my bed, blowing his nose and looking incredibly pissed off.

After sneezing again, he turned to me. “This isn’t fair. I was sick already. How come I’m sick again?” The petulant whine was once again in my brother’s baritone voice.

“Maybe you need a nap,” I deadpanned, still not believing my eyes.

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe _you_ need a nap.”

“I was _taking_ a nap. _You’re_ the one that woke me up.”

He crawled over me, huffing the whole time. “I wouldn’t have _woken_ you, if you had taken better care of your _leg_.”

I stayed still, tracking his every movement with my eyes. “My leg was _fine_ until _you_ made me carry your ass up the stairs.”

He wriggled under the blankets. “I didn’t _make_ you do anything. You were practically _begging_ to cuddle.”

He was right on that, but I wasn’t about to give in. “Pfft. You were a sniffling mess and _needing_ to cuddle.”

I was right about that, but he wasn’t about to give in. He grabbed a handful of Kleenex, sneezed again, then flopped on my pillow, grunting as he got comfortable. We lay next to each other for a moment, his sniffling the only sound in the room.

Then Sam rolled on his side and simply said, “Hi.”

I rolled on _my_ side, facing him. “Hi.”

We smiled at each other, and I felt the tears gather again. “I really missed you.”

He reached out and began playing with my hair. “I really missed you, too.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How much do you remember?”

He dragged his eyes back to mine, his fingers still twirling my hair. “Everything, actually. I...I wasn’t an adult trapped in a kid’s body. I really was four. But now...I can remember everything that happened, everything I felt. It’s...it’s really fucked up, actually.”

We breathed a laugh together, but sobered back up pretty quickly.

“What sticks out the most?” I asked, curious to learn his perspective on being four years old.

He thought for a minute. “Being loved and taken care of. That’s the biggest thing. I wasn’t worried about what happened to me - at all. I knew Dad would take care of it, no matter what, therefore it wasn’t a problem. I couldn’t remember being an adult, so it’s not like I had any proof that I was cursed. Dad could’ve told me anything, and I would’ve believed him...that’s how it was back then.“ I could see tears in _his_ eyes now as he sighed at the memories. “Dad was…” He trailed off as he searched for the right words.

“ _A_ dad, instead of _just_ Dad?” I supplied, wiping his tears before they hit his nose, noting that his skin was no longer baby-smooth under my fingers.

He huffed a laugh and sniffled, wiping at his nose with a Kleenex. “Yeah...that’s exactly what it was.”

“And Dean?”

He snorted. “Dean was Dean. He’s my constant.”

I nodded and we fell silent again.

But I had to ask. “So...last night...you kept saying that you lost something. You were pretty upset about it. Any idea what that was?”

Sam sighed through his nose and scooted closer until our heads touched. His arms were _(finally)_ around me and it fucking felt like home.

He whispered into my hair. “Yeah… _you_.”

“Oh…,” was all I managed.

**xxxxx**

It took a couple days for the hoopla over Sam’s return to lose its novelty. The virus had pretty much left the building, although, as usual, it lingered in Sam a little longer.

Dean didn’t dish out as big of a scolding over my leg as I thought he would. I was counting that as a score in my favor, until I realized he was beating himself up for missing the brewing infection. I let Sam smack him around for me - reminding Dean he’d been double whammied from the curse and the virus.

Speaking of which, Sam and I spent a good deal of time discussing the effects of the curse. It was a doozy, that’s for sure, and he agreed that a good old fashioned “Oh My God You’re Gonna Die If We Don’t ___” sounded refreshing to sneezing and crying.

Most notable, though, was Sam and Dad’s relationship. There was a shy hesitation there, as renewed emotions slowly integrated with the usual thrum of resentment and frustration. Once we return to the status quo of Demon blood and hunting, I guess we’ll see how it meshes together.

Needing something to do besides lay around and blow his nose, Dad decided to start a small job on Adam’s car. Eager for a project, Dean, Adam, and Bobby scrambled out there with him. No one was ready for a hunt, so fixing a car seemed like the perfect thing to do.

I was enjoying not waiting on people hand and foot, so I chose to lounge on the couch and watch them piddle around.

Everyone looked up when the side door opened, and in walked Sam, Kleenex box in one hand, book in the other. Things froze for a split second, then resumed the steady clang of tools and swearing. He came over to the couch, flashing me a sheepish look as he sat down next to me.

“Well, hi there. Didn’t know you knew the way here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.” He fumbled with the Kleenex box, but managed to grab a couple in time to catch a sneeze in them. “Ugh...this sucks.”

Dean walked over, deftly avoiding Sam’s ducking, and checking his forehead despite Sam’s look of annoyance. “Yeah, well now you get to properly enjoy this virus. Don’t see you running around playing Thundercats right now.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know where I got the energy. I was so sick, but I couldn’t stop!”

“Yeah, well just sit here and relax. Kick this thing in the ass and move on.” Dean’s brow furrowed in worry until Sam shooed him away.

“I’m fine, Dean. Go work on the car.”

He huffed at the dismissal and turned his attention to me. “ _You_ okay? Need anything?”

I screwed up my face, pretending to think real hard. “Nah, I’m good.”

Nodding, Dean appeared mostly satisfied at that. He pointed at us. “Behave. Lemme know if you need something.” He went back to the car, nodding at Dad, who kept an eye on us while he worked.

Sam and I shifted on the couch until we were comfortably laying together, his hand in my hair. 

Dad brought over two bottles of water, and lay his jacket over us as a blanket. He ruffled Sam’s hair and poked my nose.

Over the car’s roof, Adam sent a wink and a smile, and Bobby gave us a gruff nod, followed by a quick smile of his own.

Sam murmured into my ear, “Everything’s good.”

I nodded in agreement, and together we watched our family.

 

**===end===**

**_Epilogue…_ **

I sat on the porch that night, sipping a beer and mulling over the last couple weeks. I’ve now had the chance to be a mother, even if briefly, to both Sam and Dean, and it left a mixed bag of _what-the-fuck_ in my brain. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. It’s not like I wanted to run off and start poppin’ babies, but that sensation...where you know that little person depends on you more than air...it’s intoxicating.

By the time I came into this family, the boys were older and not willing to admit they still needed to be held and loved unconditionally. I wasn’t really in a position to provide it, being seven, but it didn’t stop me from trying to be there and making a positive difference. The curse-induced emotional outbursts from everyone wore me out, resurfacing feelings of inadequacies I hadn’t felt since I was twelve, leaving me desperate to fix a family that seemed, at times, to disintegrate in front of me.

I’d been running around like a crazy person, trying to take care of everyone, both physically and emotionally. Since Kleenex boxes were staying full for the most part during the course of the day, I figured I did an okay job at getting people healthy. But the emotional part…

There are things I simply cannot fix. I know and accept this. I can’t bring back Karen. I can’t be Mary. I can’t be Adam’s mom. I can’t erase Dean’s nightmares of Mary burning on a ceiling...anymore than I can erase Sam’s memories of Jess. All I can do is be here now and get them through it...but I guess sometimes that doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

I took another long pull from my beer and leaned back on the porch swing, watching the fireflies swarm in the field, and shivering a little in the cool night air. There was a rustling sound, and something soft caressed my cheek.

Smiling, I looked up, waiting for Castiel to appear. 

Sure enough, he blinked into sight, staggering a bit, like he’d just gotten off a wild roller coaster. He grabbed the porch railing, closing his eyes a second as he steadied himself. I set my bottle down and went to his side, taking in his appearance as I moved. His trenchcoat looked like it’d been sitting in a suitcase, and his clothing underneath definitely needed a date with an iron...and maybe a washing machine.

“Cas? You okay?” I asked tentatively, reaching his side and placing a hand on his back. His eyes snapped open and he nodded his head.

“Yes...I...I was helping someone and...yes. I’m fine, Kate. Thank you.” Cas closed his eyes again, and his clothing resumed the pristine condition I remembered. He frowned, and swept his eyes over me. “You look exhausted. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit. It’s been…” His eyes rolled heavenward, and he sighed. “ _...complicated_ back home.”

“Are the factions still fighting?” I dropped my hand, as his weary demeanor was quickly replaced by his authoritative angel-of-the-lord persona.

He nodded, squaring his shoulders and gesturing at the porch swing. “They are indeed...but nevermind that.” We sat next to each other, and he eyed my leg, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that reminded me of Dean. “You’re hurt,” he said, almost accusingly. “Why didn’t you call me?”

I snorted, bending to pick up my bottle. “Because you’re not my little bitch, running over here to wipe our noses if anything happens to us.” 

He sighed again. “Kate…”

I shook my head emphatically, my ponytail swishing back and forth. “No, Cas. That’s...that’s not how I want this to be, okay?” I looked into his eyes, and he stared back, impassive. I couldn’t be sure he grasped the full implication I laid at his feet. 

He sighed again, and looked around. “Where are the others?”

I find this question interesting, because I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have appeared if we all were lounging on the porch together. “Inside...watching TV and doing...I dunno...doing something other than puking or sneezing. Why?”

He shrugged, trying to make his question seem like idle curiosity. “Just curious.”

We sat quietly, gently rocking back and forth on the swing. I went back to staring out at the fields, when Cas tried another question. “Why are you sitting out here doubting your contribution to this family?”

Shocked, I almost choked on my drink. “Fuck, Cas, I need to teach you the art of pussy-footing around an issue.”

Cas frowned like he always does when we use figurative language of any sort, and before he launched into some question about how feline feet were involved with this situation, I held up a hand to silence him. “Nevermind. First of all, quit reading my mind. We’ve been over this.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You need to think quieter, then. You were projecting quite forcefully.”

I opened my mouth and sat there. How the hell could I know I was broadcasting on Channel Kate into the atmosphere? I had nothing to say, so I clamped my mouth shut and decided to drop it and just answer his question. “ _Second_ , I’m not doubting my contribution. I just...sometimes...wish I could do more. That’s all.” I slouched on the seat and sucked down the rest of my beer, contemplating throwing the bottle over the railing and against the old tree out front just for the hell of it.

Cas shook his head a little, looking at me with sad eyes. “They don’t know, do they? What you tried to do all those years ago?”

I swallowed heavily. I damn well know I wasn’t thinking of that specifically, so there’s _no fucking way_ I was broadcasting _that_. “No.” 

No one knew. Well, no one except, apparently, the angel.

I didn’t even bother asking _how_ he knew. What was the point?

Cas nodded, and turned a little towards me. “You need to accept something, Kate. You need to accept that you are the matriarch of this family, and that while you may not always have the answers, you have the ability to ease their hurts and give them the comfort they need.” 

I laughed at that. “Matriarch? That makes me sound like a queen, Cas. And I’m not - “

Smoothly, Cas cut me off. “Yes, matriarch. You are a formidable woman, Kate, with incredible influence over them. I told you once that your existence set them all on a remarkably different path than was once destined for them. You being here has altered prophecies and plans set forth since the beginning. Don’t let a petty curse make you doubt this.” 

I had no fucking idea how to take that, beyond the usual glib Winchester attitude. But before I could make another flippant remark, he reached out and cupped my cheek. “And you should let me take care of your wound.” 

He placed a hand on my thigh, and I felt a cool rush surge through my leg. It lingered a moment, then coursed its way up to my chest, where all five points of my amulet scar warmed comfortably, before fading.

I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes at his contact. When I opened them, Castiel’s face was scrunched up, like he was trying to solve a really hard math problem. He slowly moved his hand towards my scar, lining up each finger to one of the points. There was a warm buzzing feeling in my chest, and I think Cas felt it in his fingers as well. Eyebrows shot up, on both our faces, and we stared at each other in wonder.

Something thudded inside, followed by loud cursing and laughter. It was unexpected, making us both flinch, and effectively severing contact.

For now.

Castiel tilted his head to the side, eyes going distant. He sighed and slowly stood. “I need to go.”

I leaped up after him, like some human who had a crush on an angel.

Ugh…

“Why?” I practically squeaked, annoyed at the high-pitched tone my voice suddenly decided to adopt.

Cas looked down at his feet as he toed a protruding nail in the floorboards. “I’m needed by my brothers.” He raised his eyes to mine. “I’ll try to do a better job at visiting. You can always call if you need me...it doesn’t mean I’m your...little bitch.”

He smiled at that, which made me laugh, because I’m pretty sure he has no idea what that means. But I wasn’t about to argue with him. He _did_ just heal my leg.

“Thanks, Cas,” I said.

He ran his eyes over me, and I (quietly) tempered the desire I could feel building. “Goodnight, Kate.”

And with that, he was gone.

I blew a raspberry at the universe for denying me angelic smooching. Can’t have it all, right? 

Grudgingly, I picked up my bottle, deciding that gently placing it in the recycling bin was a lot less hassle. I padded into the kitchen, stuffing the bottle into the basket under the sink. While washing my hands, Dad walked in, rotating his shoulder with a grimace on his face. 

“What’d you do?” I demanded, drying my hands on a towel and motioning for him to sit at the table.

“Stupid fucking box on the stupid fucking top shelf filled with stupid fucking heavy shit,” he grumbled, sitting down and rubbing his shoulder in random, clumsy movements, frustration clearly cueing sloppy caretaking.

I shoved his hand away. “I got it. Sit still and lemme see what you did.”

While I examined my huffy father’s shoulder, Bobby wandered in with Dean, both sets of eyes glued to a laptop screen. “That one looks better, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “No fucking way. Lookit _that_ one. _That’s_ the one we want.”

Bobby’s nose wrinkled a bit and he shook his head. “It’s got cumin in it, boy. I hate cumin.”

Dean blinked at him. “You make chili all the fucking time. How can you - “

Bobby shrugged his shoulders and sat next to Dad. “I don’t use cumin. That shit’s nasty tasting.” 

“What are you two babbling about?” I asked, finding the sore spot on Dad’s shoulder and massaging it into submission while his head lolled against his chest.

Dean grinned. “Found a recipe we want you to make.” Beside him, Bobby was grinning, too, like a fucking pair of children on Christmas.

I just looked at them. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Julia Child? I can’t cook!”

Bobby scoffed, “Missy, you did just fine these last several days. And remember you cooked last Christmas when you were cursed. You can totally do this.”

Then he and Dean turned on their Eyes.

“Fuck you,” I mumbled.

“Yes!” They high-fived. “I’ll make the list!” Dean scampered off to find paper.

I rolled my eyes as Dad’s shoulders shook with laughter.

As Dean scooted out the door, Adam came in, running his fingers through his hair and a worried look on his face. Bobby glanced up from the laptop. “Who kicked _your_ puppy?”

Adam huffed and sat down. “Jo’s upset at me.”

“For what?” I asked, attacking another knot in Dad’s shoulder, eliciting a groan and more head lolling.

“She wanted to be here when I was sick, and thinks I didn’t want her here, even though I tried to explain the whole curse thing. What do I do?” He had a slightly wild-eyed look to him, like no matter what, anything he did was gonna end up wrong.

Chuckling, I offered, “I’ll talk to her...explain about the curse and everything. It’ll be fine - she’ll listen to me.”

Adam’s eyes perked up. “Really? You’ll do that? Sweet! Thanks, Kate!” He was gone after a quick kiss on the cheek.

I finished with Dad and patted him on the back. “All good, now?”

He tested out his shoulder, and smiled. “It’s great. Thanks, sweetheart.”

“No problem,” I said, stretching my arms wide, only to wave them at Sam, who came in, sniffling.

“Dean keeps moving the fucking boxes of Kleenex just to piss me off. Is there one in here?” He still had this annoying runny nose and battled exhaustion all day long. Dean had been using Sam’s inability to think fast as his own personal comedy show.

I grabbed a box off the counter and handed it over. “Here’s one.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, snagging a couple to blow his nose. I looked a little more closely, noticing red, puffy eyes...not a standard symptom when recovering from the flu.

“Hey Sam...come upstairs and check my leg, will ya?” I asked, sensing that he needed to talk. Probably some after-effects from the curse lingering like this virus. He looked at me hesitantly. I figured I should translate for him.

_How about I sit with you for a bit, hmm?_

Sam’s eyes darted around the room. No one was paying attention to him, so he relaxed. With a nod, he turned towards the stairs just as Dean returned with paper, practically knocking Sam out of the way in his haste to make an ingredient list with Bobby. Sam tried to shove him back but missed. He huffed in frustration, stomping upstairs to wait for me.

I grabbed some beer from the fridge, setting a cold bottle by each of them. Dad stretched his legs, chiming in once in a while with extra shit to add to the list. Adam bounced back in, and I got one more bottle for him, ruffling his hair as he sat, helping Dad provide requests for Bobby to search up on the web.

I walked to the bottom of the stairs, taking one last glance at the kitchen where my boys sat before gazing upstairs. I thought of the last few minutes, and of Castiel’s words. 

Smiling to myself, I began the trek towards Sam, laughing out loud as I heard a smug “ _I told you so_ ” in my head.


End file.
